


Old Spice and Dirt

by AestheticUsername



Category: Supernatural
Genre: "Wait what if im not str8???', "um im totally str8", ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), (singular form of spaghetti), :), Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Bad Jokes, Basically Dad!Cas, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Bonding Moments, But whatever, Counselor Castiel, Counselor Dean Winchester, Dean is in denial, Dudes Bein Dudes, Fluff, Food Fight, Friendship Bracelets, Gay Subtext, Happy Ending, Hiking, Kinda?, Leave kudos pls, M/M, No Homo, Overthinking, Pining, Rated M for language, Sick Dean Winchester, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, TW: LIVE CHILDREN, TW: hand holding, Thing - Freeform, Truth or Dare, a thot needs validation sometimes, also, also cuz i think more ppl will be lookin at M fics, also theres the, and like in the last chapter its Daddy!Cas so..., and then later, another midnight swim, anyway..., basically just camp fluff?, brief mention of food in bed, brief mention of jorts, bros bein bros yknow how it goes, but its finally here!!!!, but there ARE, but we'll get to that later, cas being a nerd about plants, changed the rating to M for language, corn flakes, dean being a nerd about his tan, dean is an actual 12 year old, dean thinking hes straight, dean's A+ art skills, deans jerkin off in the shower so, dont like dont read, for like one scene, froot loops, gettin yOTE into a lake, heads up, i guess, i know i do, idk chapter 10 is just one mess after another, idk its like a 500 word scene but, in fact, it was unavoidable tho, its finally done!!!!, its like, just boys being boys, many beds, midnight swims, misuse of tater tots, moderately mushy, mostly - Freeform, not dean and cas, ok not really, outside showers, p much the "oh no theres only one bed what should we do" cliche, people look up that tag all the time so im adding it lmao, really just cas spraying dean w a hose, really long buildup, slight mush, sorry - Freeform, spaghettus, super mushy, that happened, theres dye...everywhere, theres paint...everywhere, theyre a different kind of froot, we know you arent but ok, well not technically but..., worst case scenario: eating food in bed, yet - Freeform, yknow its p much in every destiel fanfic, you know the deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-05-01 22:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AestheticUsername/pseuds/AestheticUsername
Summary: “Top or bottom?” Dean asked.Castiel didn't look up from his suitcase. “Top,” he said.Dean nodded.and tossed his sleep equipment onto the bottom bunk.Castiel looked up, eyebrows creased. “Oh, you meant bunks? Bottom, please.”Dean paused. He frowned loudly, and threw a questioning look at his bunkmate.Castiel had turned his back to him and was rooting through his bag. He pulled out a striped fitted sheet and moved to put it on the bottom bunk.“What,” Dean said suspiciously, making the question sound more like a statement.“Bottom, Dean. That is, if you don't mind,” he answered, unfolding the sheet.Dean nodded warily, eyes narrowed.“O... kay. I'll take the top.”Dean couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the other man snort quietly.





	1. Week 0 (yikes its beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> it gets better i promise im sorry
> 
> it's not illegal to leave kudos even if you didnt like it. just sayin'

**To: Dean Winchester**

**From: Chuck Shurley, Founder of Crossroads Campgrounds**

Mr. Winchester,

All of us here at Crossroad Campgrounds are pleased to inform you of your acceptance at our summer camp program as a counselor. You, along with your fellow counselor(s) will be responsible for a group of 10-15 boys per week for the month of July. The month of August remains open if you wish to extend your stay. Further details will be sent as soon as they are determined.  

Welcome aboard, and we’ll see you soon!

**Camp Crossroads Founder**

**Chuck Shurley**

Dean wasn’t sure whether he should be ecstatic or disappointed. The only reason he’d even applied for the counselor job was to get out of the house for a while. With Dad and Sam fighting constantly over colleges, things were a bit tense at the Winchester residence. So, for the first time in his eighteen years of life, Dean applied for a job.

Well, multiple jobs, actually. The other interviewers called him “overqualified” or told him he was “not what we’re looking for right now,” and to “try again later.”

The camp had been his last application. Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting to get it. He was hoping, sure. It was a perfect setup: not too far from home but far enough to get out of coming home every weekend, and it was in the middle of a huge, wildlife-protected forest.

Dean had originally applied to be a lifeguard, but there were no openings so late in the season. After a grand total of ten seconds careful consideration, Dean agreed to shoot for the counselor position instead. Now that he’d been accepted though, the idea definitely seemed less appealing. Fifteen boys? Dean had trouble controlling  _ Sam _ , his own brother.

He closed his laptop, leaving the acceptance email up, and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Rolling from his cramped position on the bed, he straightened his back and stood.

Ten children was a lot. Fifteen was a nightmare. Runny noses, scraped knees, cries for mommies. Dean cringed and groaned aloud. Whiners were the worst kind.

And oh, god, the ridiculous allergies they had. Trees, pollen, peanuts, fucking  _ grass _ , for god’s sake. And snot-nosed brats be damned, he wasn’t giving up his PB toast for breakfast. It just wasn’t happening.

As if on cue, Dean’s stomach rumbled. He patted it knowingly, and dismissed his thoughts as hunger-induced paranoia.

“Pfft. How hard can it be?” he said aloud. “They’re just kids.”

~

“Son of a-” Dean honked his horn yet again in annoyance. There was a line of cars stretching from the Campground drive almost to the main road, and Dean was at the end. He let off the brake just enough for his car to roll forward a few inches. The white gravel of the road crunched under the wheels of his car. A ‘67 Impala, in perfect condition, his Dad’s present for his 17th birthday (John Winchester had originally planned on giving up the keys on Dean’s 16th, but an alcohol-induced stupor caused the total demolition of the car’s front end, and it took Dean months to fix it up. John was in the hospital for much of the time. That was one of the better birthdays of Dean’s childhood). The sun reflected dully off the shiny black hood. The gentle roar of the engine did nothing to soothe his mood, as it did in most situations.

He glanced at his watch. 8:17. Counselors were supposed to be checked in at 8:30. He cursed, more subdued this time, under his breath. If the line wouldn’t move, it wasn’t his fault. His tardiness would be its fault. With that mindset, Dean cranked up the volume on the cassette playing and sang along quietly to an AC/DC song, tapping the steering wheel to the beat and only mildly headbanging in case the person in the car in front of him looked in their rearview mirror.

Just as the song was reaching its end Dean noticed a short, red haired woman making her way down the assembly of cars, talking to each occupant briefly before moving on to the next vehicle. She carried a clipboard, and appeared to be taking notes as she walked. When she reached the car in front of him -a tiny blue thing that Dean could’ve run over with the effect of a speed bump under his wheels- he turned down his music and rolled down the window. In a matter of moments, she was to him.

“Hey there,” she said cheerfully, if not a bit awkwardly. “How’re you doing this morning?”

“Just peachy. You?” She informed him that she was much the same. “So what’s the holdup?” Dean motioned to the line of cars with an outstretched hand.

“Straight to the point then,” she nodded. “There’s a broken-down car blocking the way. They’re working on fixing it, but so far it’s a no-go.” She shook her head, her short hair flying around her face. “So I can check you in -you know, so you’re not late. They’re pretty strict about that here. Can I get your name?” Dean raised his eyebrows, but complied.

“Dean Winchester.” She nodded again and scanned her list. Dean took the moment of silence to add, “Y’know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could take a look if you want.” The woman didn’t answer until she’d found his name and marked him in. She looked at him appraisingly.

“Actually, I think that would be great. If you don’t mind, that is.” He didn’t. “All right, I’ll just tell them you’re coming.” She stepped away from his car to let him out and unclipped a walkie talkie from her belt. Dean parked and turned off the ignition, stepping out into the glare of the sun. While he waited for the girl to finish her conversation, he rolled up the Impala’s window.

“Okay, go right up. Follow the line of cars, they’re expecting you up front.” She told him while clipping her walkie talkie back in place. “Thanks. Oh, and you can leave your keys with me. I’ll drive your car up and meet you at the gate.” She held out her hand, waiting.

Dean made a face. Before he could verbalize his concerns, she cut in. 

“Oh, I totally understand. I’ll be very careful. You won’t even know I touched her.” her open smile paired with her words was enough to convince Dean to grudgingly hand over his keys. He tossed them to her along with a “not a scratch, you hear?” and a grin. She laughed and waved him off.

He slowly made his way to the front of the line, hoping all the while that his limited mechanical skills were enough to fix the problem.

As he neared the gate, he saw an ugly green car surrounded by people already in red Camp Crossroads staff shirts talking animatedly amongst themselves. One guy, a tall blond -probably a lifeguard, if his tan was anything to judge by- noticed Dean approaching, and elbowed the guy next to him forcefully in the ribs, pointing. The elbowed man, a short scruffy-looking guy with moderately long golden-blond hair who was wearing the ugliest, shortest, most obnoxiously bright hawaiian print shorts Dean had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on, glared at the tall blond, then followed the pointing finger straight to Dean. Upon eye contact, Dean instinctively brought his hand up in a half wave. Everyone surrounding the car, now staring at him, returned his greeting with various gestures.

“Need some help?” Dean called, still a few yards away. There was a chorus of affirmations, several glares directed at awful-fashion-sense guy, and relieved smiles all around. Dean couldn’t help smiling a tiny bit. “What’s the problem?”

“I dunno.” The answer came from -surprise- bad shorts dude. “It just kinda died. I tried starting it up again,” he shrugged. “No dice.” The lanyard (an awful pink thing) with his keys swung in his closed fist.

“Let’s take a look,” Dean said more to himself than anyone else. He avoided looking directly at the car owner’s shorts. If the light of the sun could blind a man, he hated to imagine what the brightness of the fabric could do. “Try and start it, will you?”

As he moved to do as asked, Dean made his way to the front of the car, listening intently to the coughs and splutters of the engine as it attempted to turn over. After a few tries, he motioned to the guy to stop, and popped his head in the car’s rolled down window.

“Mind if I give her a go?” he asked, all smiles.

“Be my guest.” the two switched places. Dean gave the keys dangling from the ignition a quarter turn, then turned his attention to the blinking lights on the dash, blatantly ignoring the fuzzy rainbow dice hanging from the rearview mirror. His shoulders loosened, relieved. This was a problem he was capable of handling. He took the keys out and tossed them to their rightful owner, who was not paying attention. They bounced off his chest and landed at his feet with a cheery jingle.

“Well? Can you fix it?” the guy asked, bending to retrieve his keys. Dean did  _ not  _ envy the people standing behind him.

Dean’s gaze shifted to the ground with him.  _ Dear God,  _ he thought _. Those socks should be illegal in  _ every  _ state. Really? Pineapples? _ Aloud he said, “I could, but I’d rather you did,” he paused to gauge reactions. Most everyone looked aghast at his rude diagnosis. He finished with a smirk, “You’re outta gas, man.”

There was silence for a heartbeat as Dean’s words sunk in. One broke down in a sudden fit of violent coughing, which seemed to be contagious.

“Out of gas?” One guy wheezed. “Gabriel, that’s pathetic, even for you.” Several people gave up trying, and burst out laughing.

A very red-faced Gabriel smiled a bit sheepishly.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” Despite his severe tone, Gabriel laughed along with his friends. “How ‘bout helping me push it?” Everyone did end up helping, but not before they harassed him more. Slowly they rolled the Toyota to the side of the road and the line of cars sped past, one by one. When Dean’s ride pulled up, he heard a low whistle, and several exclamations that all boiled down to, “Whoa. Check that out.”

Dean’s smile widened as he said “That’s my baby.” 


	2. Week 0.5 (The Joke™)

 

Since what could only be described as a dramatic entrance, Dean caught the attention of staff members left and right and was the common topic of discussion amongst them. He went along with it when people came up to him, pretending to have known him their whole lives, and who was he to argue with the cute cafeteria worker when she insisted upon showing her admiration in the form of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and not-so-subtle suggestions?

By the time Dean was shown to the cabin he'd be in charge of, number 13, he was totally exhausted. The faded chalk drawings on the deck of the of the cabin were covered in leaves and dirt. From the clothesline hung branches and spiderwebs. A girl whose name Dean couldn't recall led him up the wide steps, happily informing him that the counsellors were in charge of cleanup in and around their respective cabins, in preparation for the campers. She also pointed out that the cabin hadn't been in use since the summer before, meaning there was a lot to be cleaned. She ushered him in, told him where he could find cleaning supplies, and wished him luck, all with an overly cheery voice that Dean secretly hated.

As soon as she left, Dean let his bags drop to the floor at his side and glanced around the sparsely furnished quarters. Twenty beds stacked in bunks were lined up against the walls, just enough room between them to fit suitcases or other personal belongings. The bunks themselves were made from grayish-blue painted wood, rubbed smooth from years’ worth of small hands. The mattresses were thin, plastic things with barely enough cushioning to soften the wood. Dean noticed writing on almost every wall and bunk, the result of barely supervised children, some written in ink, others scratched or gouged deep into the wood. Looking closer, he saw that most of them said things like “Mike was here 2014,” or “Brian sucks.” A few even listed phone numbers and email addresses.

Dean rested his shoulder against the doorframe, noting with muted disgust the thick layer of dust settled on the floor and bunks, and the grime that coated the many windows set in seemingly random spots in the walls. The windowsills had collections of dead bugs, and the whole place smelled like rot.

“Home sweet home,” Dean muttered, and moved his bags to the porch railing, where they would stay until he cleaned up a bit.

He noticed with chagrin that the windows didn't open, so instead he propped the creaky screen door open with a rock he'd found not far off the deck for some air flow.

He stood back in the doorway, mentally counting how many moppings it would take to make the one-roomed cabin livable.

“Excuse me,” came a deep, strained voice behind him.

Dean hurriedly stepped to the side, definitely not startled in the least.

The voice, as it turned out, belonged to Dean’s only co-counselor. He introduced himself as Castiel, and he came bearing gifts. Under his arms he carried brooms, mops, and a stack of washrags, with two buckets of hot, soapy water, one in each hand. Dean helped him set the supplies on the front deck.

Castiel handed him a bucket and rag.

“First things first,” he said, smiling wistfully, and the pair began their assault on the cabin.

Dean knocked the dead beetles and ladybugs off the windowsills, used a broom to brush the big clumps of  _ whatever that was _ off the mattresses, and wiped both down with a rag.

The two hardly spoke as they swept the dust from under the bunks, and avoided eye contact while collecting spider webs from the corners with dead branches lying on the deck. Dean threw his stick out without making a single cotton candy joke.

When Castiel shed his shoes and socks in preparation of mopping, Dean did the same.

“You might want to roll your pant legs up too,” Castiel voiced. Dean did so, almost wishing he'd worn shorts. He rolled the denim halfway up his shins, and went for a mop.

The soft pinewood floors were slippery, and Dean's feet tingled every time he almost slipped, which was far more often than he'd care to admit. Castiel, on the other hand, seemed very well balanced. 

It took three good scrubs and two full-on face plants on Dean's part before the pair deemed the floor suitably clean. The windows took four wipe downs and three-fourths of a bottle of Windex to be mildly transparent.

When they had wiped, swept, scrubbed, dusted, and aired out every flat surface in the cabin, they called it quits.

Dean helped Castiel carry the supplies back to the supply shed behind the restrooms.

Retreating back to cabin 13, they had just enough time to set up their bunks before lunch.

Castiel showed him which bunks were usually reserved for counsellors: the one closest to the door, so they could more easily hear kids trying to sneak in and out at night.

Dean hauled his bag off the deck railing and onto the floor at the foot of the bunk. He pulled out his sleeping bag.

“Top or bottom?” Dean asked.

Castiel didn't look up from his suitcase. “Top,” he said.

Dean nodded.and tossed his sleep equipment onto the bottom bunk.

Castiel looked up, eyebrows creased. “Oh, you meant bunks? Bottom, please.”

Dean paused. He frowned loudly, and threw a questioning look at his bunkmate.

Castiel had turned his back to him and was rooting through his bag. He pulled out a striped fitted sheet and moved to put it on the bottom bunk.

“What,” Dean said suspiciously, making the question sound more like a statement.

“Bottom, Dean. That is, if you don't mind,” he answered, unfolding the sheet.

Dean nodded warily, eyes narrowed.

“O... kay. I'll take the top.”

Dean couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the other man snort quietly.

~

Dean speared his pile of mashed potatoes, letting his flimsy fork stay upright in the gooey mountain.

“I hope your table manners are better when there are young, impressionable children around, who will undoubtedly look up to you.”

Dean made a tower out of his chicken nuggets instead of replying. After an entire day of cleaning bathrooms and kitchen equipment, along with an extensive campground tour that involved walking miles in the hot sun, he was in no mood to be a good role model. Dinner was hardly any different from lunch, with the only change being nuggets instead of hamburgers.

The one thing Dean learned through the course of his first day was that Crossroads summer camp programs were not for the lazy. From the stories told by veteran counselors and Castiel, he learned that the almost entire day was spent herding children to various activities. The average day started off bad enough with an optional early morning “polar bear” swim, then came breakfast, cabin clean up, swim hour, nature trail, lunch, mail call/cabin chill (basically house arrest for an hour), playground, archery, Creek time (watching kids splash each other with dirty water), a quick break, dinner, free time, bonfire, story time, and finally, bedtime. Dean was significantly less excited about the whole ordeal than he had been at first, and the fact that everyone's initial interest in Dean had died out didn't help boost his enthusiasm.

The counsellors were sitting at their tables, separated by cabin, so all Dean had for company was his bunkmate: bland and boring Castiel.

_ Role model, indeed _ , Dean thought.  _ Just wait ‘till I stub my toe, those kids’ll have their vocabularies expanded _ .

Castiel poked the Leaning Tower of Chicken with his fork, causing it to wobble dangerously.

“You should eat. Big day tomorrow.”

Dean plucked the top chicken nugget off the stack and made a big show of dunking it in ketchup, careful not to let it drip. He then proceeded to shove the entire nugget into his mouth.

Castiel narrowed his eyes before turning back to his own food.

Dean grinned around his mouthful of chicken.

~

“Ok, and what's your name?” Cas asked the boy in front of him. He was the first to show, and Dean actually had hope for the week. The kid was nice, polite even, and quiet. If they were all like this, he would manage, no problem.

“Cole Trenton, sir.”

Castiel smiled warmly, his whole face softening.

“Cole, ok. You can call me Castiel. I don't mind.” When Cole nodded Castiel helped him bring his suitcase inside, waved off his parents after routine questions about medications and allergies, and said, “you're the first here, so take whichever bunk you want.”

Cole looked around before deciding. He pointed a finger and said, “that one,” before moving to Castiel's bunk.

“Oh, that one's mine, how about a different one? There's one with a window,” Castiel motioned to the bunk across from his own.

“You said I could have whichever one I wanted. I want that one!” He stomped his foot -actually stomped it- and moved to throw Castiel’s blankets on the floor.

Dean, who was watching from his fold out chair in the corner of the room, decided it would be a good idea to step in. He was more than a little surprised that the kid went from calling Castiel “sir” to throwing a tatrum in the span of, like, a minute, but...whetever. He was more than okay with being the bad cop -or counselor, in this case.

He stood, quickly and wordlessly took the kid’s bag out of his hand, and tossed it onto the bunk Castiel had suggested.

“There you go. Might want to set up your stuff now, before we're too busy.”

Dean stood over the kid, who looked like he was about to throw a full-on tantrum.

“But I-”

And he was whining. First kid, first week, first summer, and the kid whined. Dean was not putting up with that for a week.

“Look, kid. I'm sure your parents are still here, I can run up and get them to come straighten you out,” he noticed the wary look the kid shot him, so he continued with more confidence. “Or, you can behave and we'll get along just fine. No need to involve them. Deal?”

Cole nodded solemnly and took his bunk without further argument.

Dean inwardly smirked.

Dean: 1

Kids: 0

Dean felt rather proud of himself, handling it so well. Apparently Castiel didn't feel the same way. A raised eyebrow and disapproving glare said as much.

Cas motioned him over with a nod of his head.

“Dean, they're kids. You can't treat them like that,” The dark haired high schooler whispered. “You have to humor them sometimes. Be nice!”

“ _ He _ wasn't being nice,” Dean protested, maybe louder than necessary, and maybe purposely.

Cole looked up from his bed, and Castiel gave him a reassuring smile. When he went back to his unpacking, Castiel whirled on Dean.

“They're  _ kids _ . Why are you even  _ here _ if you don't want to be near them?”

Dean was taken a bit aback at the steel in his voice.

“I- uh, I'm sorry. Okay? Sorry.”

Castiel didn't look convinced.

Dean huffed and went to kneel beside Cole’s bed.

“Hey there, kid. Need some help?”  

As Dean helped Cole unroll his sleeping bag and place his pillow and stuffed bear (that Dean pretended not to see when Cole quickly shoved it under the pillow), he mellowed out quite noticably.

He managed to get Cole to smile, an actual smile, and when he left to check in another camper, he could see the approval in Castiel's smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it still gets better. we're getting there


	3. Week 1 (oh no i fell asleep in ur bed :)) )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuck another chapter. spoilers in the chapter title :)))

“Andy! Put that down!” Dean called to the red headed boy who was holding a pale mushroom up to his group of friends.

Hearing Dean, he tried to hide it behind his back.

“Hey, no way. I can see you, kid.” Dean took the mushroom and tossed it deep into the woods, far off the path. He ruffled Andy's hair to show it wasn't personal.

“And you better wash your hands. In the creek is fine.” after letting the cool water run over his own hand, Dean went to sit back on his rock overlooking the creek where his group was playing.  

It was a nice rock, mostly flat, gray, and completely dry. Dean had no idea how many times he'd sat on wet rocks over the past four days. This was his favorite place to sit at the creek.

“Ten more minutes, then we're going to get washed up for dinner!” Castiel called from a ways downstream.

“Ten minutes,” Dean repeated to the kids under his care. They screeched and tried harder to catch the tadpoles swimming just under the surface. They never caught any, of course, but that never stopped them from trying again and again, day after day. Dean had to admit, he admired their determination.

It was a few minutes later that the rest of Dean's cabin joined his group at the shallow part of the creek. They were followed closely by a dripping Castiel.

Dean had to stifle a laugh as the man violently tousled his hair, sending droplets of water everywhere. He came to sit by Dean, but Dean held up his hands.

“Whoa, man, don't drip all over me. Sit on that rock, this one's taken.” Dean pointed to another mostly flat rock a few feet away.

“Dean, this is a huge rock, it'll fit two people. Move over if you don't want to get wet.”

He squelched into a sitting position to Dean's right. Dean scooted a few inches so the water rivulets coming from Castiel's clothes wouldn't soak into his shorts.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“I fell in.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Cas looked at him pointedly.

“Sorry, I forgot,” Dean mock-bowed. Cas had had the language discussion with him the day before. Dean tried to watch what he said, but sometimes… well, at least none of the kids had heard anything. He hoped.

He pulled a piece of wet leaf off Cas’ shoulder, staring maybe a little enviously at the solid muscle he could see through the fabric.

“Slippery rock?”

Cas sighed. “Yeah.”

Dean nodded.

“You can head up to the cabin and change if you want. I'll be up in a bit with the urchins.”

“They're not  _ urchins _ ,” Castiel retorted as he stood to leave. “But thanks.”

“No problem. Just make sure you're dressed before we get up there.”

An eye roll and flick of water in Dean's face, and Cas turned to trudge up the slight incline of the path toward the cabins.

Dean watched him leave, laughing to himself at the wet butt print left on the rock. Castiel walked stiffly, arms out at his sides, legs hardly bending with each step. He looked like a penguin --a very out of place penguin with terrible taste in shorts. The ones he wore today were khaki, the pockets weighed down with water and various supplies such as snacks, bug spray, and Band-Aids. They were pretty short too, barely falling past the halfway mark on his thighs. When Cas pulled up the hem of his shirt to wring it out, Dean discovered exactly how low-rise they were.

As small as the shorts were, Dean conceded that they did look good on him. They fit well (even when they weren't clinging to his drenched skin), at least, and didn't hurt his figure in the least.

Dean, coughed and turned back to the twelve kids under his care. He did  _ not _ just admire Cas’ ass. Nope. Didn't happen.

He gave himself a few minutes to clear his head, then called the kids to gather on the path and initiated a sound off. When the last one called “twelve!” Dean led them back up the dirt path, past the chalk covered blacktop used for free time. He kicked a dodgeball to the side, and slowed to admire a rather good chalk masterpiece of a robot smashing a ninja.

The cabin was up on the edge of the woods that surrounded the setup of cabins. Boys’ cabins evenly placed on the east side, and girls’ were clustered on the west at the bottom of a deep valley. They were separated by the pool and dining hall placed in the middle of the clearing. The blacktop was just past the girls’ cabins, so it was a moderately long hike to the other side.

“Listen up, we're stopping at the cabin. Grab a change of clothes if you need one and head down to the bathrooms. Don't go alone, groups of at least two!”

Dean opened the door letting the hoard of kids rush past into their bunks. Most ignored the “clean clothes” thing and paired up after slipping out of their shoes and into sandals, and Dean was stuck holding the door as they rushed back out.

“Walk!” He called after them.

After the last bunch disappeared around a bend in the path, Dean let the door slam behind him (something that campers were forbidden to do), climbed his ladder, careful of the low rafters, and let himself fall face first into his bed exhaling loudly as he did so.

He groaned into his pillow. Just four days, and he was already so sleep deprived he couldn't bring himself to escort his cabin to the bathroom like he was supposed to. How did ten-year-olds manage to function on barely any sleep? They had been up until three the night before. Dean heard them talking in stage whispers and making odd growling noises. Dean, unlike the campers, had to be up at six thirty to escort some of the other boys not in his cabin to their early morning swim. All the counsellors took turns, Dean was beyond overjoyed that he would only have to do it once more during the month.

He’d only gotten three hours of sleep, and that was not enough for anyone, ever.

He wanted a nap. There was a fifteen-minute break before dinner, and he was honestly debating letting Castiel take the kids by himself. Maybe they’d bring him back a styrofoam bowl of cheerios or something.

He heard when the door creaked open and chose to ignore it. As long as the kids were quiet they didn't need to be bothered with.

He turned his face to the side for some air, but remained silent. When he heard the unmistakable buzz of humming next to him, he opened one eye. It was Cas. He could tell by just the mess of dark hair.

_ I should ask if he would be okay with me ditching dinner,  _ Dean thought, and peeled his face off his pillow. He didn't bother to sit up. Instead, he pulled himself over to the edge of the bed and bent his head up and over the low railing.

“Hey, I was-” Dean stopped, mouth forming words his voice wasn't supplying.

Cas looked up from his bag, shirt in hand, and made a face. His hair was drier than it had been when Dean last saw him, he had a fresh pair of shorts on, and his shirt was clutched in his fist. His chest was well muscled,  _ like the rest of him _ , Dean thought, and a fine dusting of hair was barely visible disappearing into the waist of his new but still low-cut shorts. His bare feet left wet imprints on the floor and his shower shoes were kicked off by the door.

“I thought you were with the kids.”

It took Dean a full second to register the words.

“I was going to, but, uh…”

Cas raised his eyebrow. He pulled his red staff shirt over his head, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Dean swallowed, coughed once, and continued. “I was wondering, would you be okay if I sit this one out? Dinner, I mean. I was gonna catch a few Z's before campfire.”

Castiel shrugged indifferently, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Fine with me, as long as you're okay with not eating.”

Dean groaned pitifully and let his head roll back onto his pillow. He was starving.

Cas laughed. “Okay, okay. I'll bring you something. Go to sleep, the kids will be back soon.”

“Castiel, you are an actual angel,” Dean told his pillow.

Castiel laughed through his nose and said, “goodnight, Dean.”

Dean slid into his sleeping bag, zipping it closed over his head. He was asleep a few minutes later, and didn't hear Cas shushing the boys and taking them to the dining hall ten minutes early.

~

Castiel returned forty-five minutes later with a covered plate of brisket and tater tots, along with other wrapped snacks. Dean was fast asleep, so he placed the plate right by his head. It only took a few minutes for Dean to smell food and be awakened by his stomach rumbling.

“mmmm my god, Cas, I love you,” Dean slurred, sticking a hand under the warm plate but otherwise not moving.

Cas sighed as a chorus of “ewwww gross!” erupted from the campers who, having been carefully instructed by Castiel, had been quietly going about their business until the declaration of love.

Dean blindly threw a tater tot.

“Hey!” Protested the kid who caught the tot with his face.

“Kevin, you need to go to the nurse's office and get your meds. Take a buddy, be back in 10 minutes,” Castiel instructed.

Kevin grabbed one of his new friends, forgetting the tater tot for a moment and running off to the nurse's office, where she gave out candy to every visitor.

Dean snuck tots one by one into his sleeping bag where he could eat them in peace.

The campers gave up their quiet activities for louder ones, including bouncing a stolen dodgeball against _every_ _wall_ of the goddamn building.

“Alright campers, get your bug spray and spray each other --outside, Mark! Campfire is in fifteen minutes we have to hurry.” Castiel clapped his hands for emphasis, and the boys scurried to obey.

Cas leaned up against Dean's bunk.

“Hey. Are you coming? They'll have s’mores.”

Dean groaned and sat up. “I guess,” he grumbled. He stuffed his face with the rest of the food out on the deck (food inside the cabin was another thing that was strictly prohibited) and was ready for s’mores and outdated campfire songs in record time.

~

“I cannot  _ believe _ you threw the entire box of graham crackers into the fire,” Castiel laughed on the way back to the cabin.

“Hey, I thought it was empty! You specifically told me --Ryan, stay on the path!-- specifically said to throw it away.”

“No, Dean, I said ‘throw it _to_ _May,_ ’ the blue-haired counselor in charge of cabin 3. You know her, I've seen you talk to her.”

Dean scoffed. “She talked to me, like, one time about her mom killing a spider instead of catching it and putting it outside. She cried.”

“She's very emotional,” Cas pointed out in a faux serious tone. “Animal rights activist, vegan, and,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “Tumblr feminist.”

Dean gasped dramatically. “No.”

“Mmhm.”

They walked the rest of the way to the cabin in a nice silence broken only be the chatter of campers and the few shouted commands at campers who couldn't stay focused enough to walk in a straight line.

“Ok kids, grab your pajamas and toothbrushes. Head to the bathrooms, and be nice,” Castiel clapped his hands to get the attention of two particularly rowdy boys who were play wrestling and smearing marshmallow from their faces all over their bedding in the process. “Other cabins are getting ready for bed too. Don't hog the sinks --do you hear me, Connor?”

Connor made a face, but promised not to squirt toothpaste onto the faces of anyone who attempted to use ‘his’ sink… again.

Dean held the door open until the last boy ran through yelling, “wait up!” to his friends who did not wait up.

Letting the door slam, Dean grabbed his suitcase from under Cas’ bed and gathered his own sleep equipment. He changed into sports shorts and brushed his teeth over the railing of the deck, using water from his water bottle to rinse and spit into the trees.

Back inside, he tidied up a few things strewn about, and sat on Cas’ bed awaiting the return of his subjects.

“You know you're supposed to supervise them in the bathrooms,” Castiel prodded. “and move over, you're blocking the airflow.”

Dean scooched over a few inches to let the mini fan clipped to the bedpost blow directly into his co-counselor’s face.

“Wow dude, could you have made that sound any more creepy?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“They're big kids now, they know how to brush their teeth by themselves.” Dean sighed and fell backwards dramatically onto the bed at Cas’ feet with a hand over his forehead in the stereotypical fainting way. “They grow up so fast.”

Cas kicked him.

“Shut up,” Cas muttered just as the first campers barged through the door and scrambled up the ladders to their respective bunks. “It's almost time to tell them a bedtime story.”

When all 12 boys were back in their beds, Cas continued his long narrative of dragons and elves that he started telling the kids on their first night to distract them from being away from home. He walked around the cabin for emphasis, sometimes whispering so that the boys had to strain to hear what he was saying, then scaring them all by clapping or stomping his foot loudly when the story called for a particularly dramatic scene.

Dean knew that it was just the plot of the Lord of the Rings books Cas was reciting from memory, but the boys loved it, so he refrained from pointing out how much of a  _ major _ nerd Cas was.

Dean, lying still on Cas’ bed while he performed, snuck a Ziploc bag of trail mix from Castiel’s illegal food stash on the window sill by the bed and picked out all the M&Ms while he listened.

Castiel was just getting to the part of the trolls’ camp when Dean drifted off.

~

Cas looked at the man sleeping in his bed, his hand still in the bag of trail mix now devoid of any candy.

Cas sighed, but decided against waking him. He needed his sleep.

He gingerly took the bag from Dean, closed it up, and dropped it in Dean's still-open suitcase lying on the floor. It was his now.

Carefully, so the ladder didn't squeak, Castiel climbed up to the top bunk. To Dean's bed. He tried not to think about how the pillow smelled like Dean --Old Spice and dirt-- or how his own bed would smell the same way in the morning. He also wasn’t confused about why he thought that  _ dirt  _ was a good smell? It was  _ dirt…  _ No, he didn’t think about any of that. Instead he closed his eyes and prepared himself for tomorrow's early start.

~

BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT! Dean slammed the snooze button on the alarm clock next to his face harder than technically necessary. He grappled with the little battery-operated machine and directed the beam of glaring numbers at his crusty corneas. The light pierced through his eyes and it took him a second to focus. 5:15? Why in the name of all things fucking holy did he set an alarm for five-fucking-fifteen in the goddamn morning? He let his eyes unfocus and the numbers blurred into red light.

He heard Cas stirring in his bed, and he felt a teeny tiny pang of guilt for waking him before remembering they were both in this together.

But 5am? Two days in a row? Dean was off morning swim duty. It was Cas’ turn--

Dean froze. Cas’ bed, Cas' alarm clock, Cas'  _ bed.  _ He was in Castiel's bed _.  _ He _ slept  _ in Castiel's bed.

Dean let out a huge breath.

He'd play it off, pretend it wasn't a big deal. But he did have to get Cas up.

The wooden floor of the cabin felt cold on his toes. He wanted nothing more than to curl up under the blankets and sleep for another nine and a half years, but he knew he couldn't.

He stood on his toes and shook Castiel’s shoulder. No response. He tried again, with a bit more effort this time. Cas swatted his hand away and muttered incoherently.

“Cas? Hey buddy, you gotta wake up. Your turn to take the early birds swimming.”

Cas was silent for a moment, then sat up, barely avoiding hitting his head on the low ceiling beams.

“My alarm didn't go off?” He asked.

“No, it did. I have it. You need to get up… I'm going back to sleep. Watch your step though, you're on the top bunk.” Dean went back to Cas’ bed and gathered the blankets around himself like he'd never be warm again.

Cas, groaning and moaning the whole time, grabbed a sweatshirt, stepped into his sandals, and slipped out into the misty woods to collect the poor unfortunate souls who signed themselves up for a week of 5:30am swims.


	4. Week 2 (mud sliiiiiiiiiiide)

On the third day of the second week of camp, a huge storm blew through Camp Crossroads. Lightning flashed and thunder drowned out any sounds that might've been heard over the pounding rain. All campers and counselors were officially confined to their cabins until the storm passed.

Luckily for Dean and Cas, none of the boys were scared of lightning or thunder, so they had a fun time playing inside for the day.

A crew worker, a girl by the name of Bela, was assigned food delivery duty for breakfast and lunch to the upper cabins, and she brought two trays of food covered in cling wrap for the cabin. It was the only time food from the kitchens was allowed out of the kitchen, and she reminded them of this several times throughout her two short visits.

“Guys! Listen up!” Dean shouted over the rhythmic thrum of the rain on the tin roof. “Stack your plates and cups neatly on the trays. Silverware goes in the top cup. Bela will be here any minute to collect ‘em. Come on, don't make her wait.”

The boys stacked their dishes haphazardly and retired to their bunks to talk amongst themselves until Dean or Cas could come up with an activity for the group to do.

While Cas helped Bela balance the trays on her outstretched arms, Dean made rounds around the room. Pretending to be checking for out of place belongings, he eavesdropped on several different conversations.

“Nuh-uh, Superman would kick Batman's butt. All he has is money,” claimed a loud kid named Bryce.

Dean handled the situation like a real adult, moving on to the next group of boys instead of telling Bryce exactly what he thought of his opinions.

The second group of kids were talking in whispers, and were definitely aware of what Dean was doing, so he moved on.

“--zipline was awesome! Do you think they'll let us do it again?”

Dean smirked. Each cabin was allowed one day of ziplining. Their day had been yesterday.

“Okay campers, Bela brought us some paper and I have colored pencils, we’re going to write letters home! Everyone make a circle on the floor.” Cas interrupted Dean’s stalking by spread colorful construction paper and a box of pencils in the middle of the floor. Dean hadn’t even noticed Bela arriving. “There's plenty of room, spread out. Tell your parents all about camp. If you need more paper I can make a run, don't worry.”

“Do we have to?” whined a short kid that Dean absolutely hated.

“Yes,” Dean said, totally monotone. “And make ‘em happy letters, even if you have to lie. Parents eat that crap up.”

“Dean!” Cas scolded amongst the snickering of most of the campers.

Dean shrugged.

“Aren't you going to write home? I bet your parents want crap to eat up from you,” said a quiet kid who was hoarding all the yellow paper.

“You know what, Fin, I think that's an excellent idea,” Castiel glowed. “Dean, here's some paper. Write home. Tell them how happy you are. Even if you have to lie.” Dean didn't have a good comeback so he took the paper mutely and glared daggers back at the twinkle-eyed counselor.

It wasn't a terrible idea. He could write to Sammy. The kid'd totally eat it up just as much as any parent.

Several times during the cabin's letter writing period the lights flickered, but the power remained on and the boys scribbled on as if nothing had happened.

Finished, Dean held up his letter.

He didn't notice when Cas snuck up behind him and tore it out of his grasp.

“Hey!”

“‘Dear Sammy’” Castiel started to read aloud, much to the delight of the campers. “‘Camp is super fun, I wish we'd signed you up for a week.’ Aww that's cute. 'The food isn't half as bad as what dad makes, and the kids aren't totally terrible.’”

The boys cheered like they'd won a prize.

Dean grabbed for the letter, but Cas held it out of his reach, still reading.

“‘I'm co-counseling with this guy who thinks he can replace me as pretty boy. Look I drew a picture.’” Cas stopped to admire the drawing of him done by Dean Winchester.

Portrait Castiel’s hair was sticking up everywhere, and his eyelashes were greatly exaggerated.

“Dean this is very good. Did you go to school for this?” Cas mocked.

Dean’s face flushed, much to the delight of the campers.

“‘Anyway, miss you. See ya soon. Be good, Dean.’”

The laughter only died down after five minutes, when a kid started singing “Cas and Dean sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” at the top of their lungs and Cas quickly put an end to it.

Camp Crossroads took a firm stance on relationships during camping season on their campgrounds. “Camp is for friendships, not relationships,” counselors had been told at the orientation that was held at the beginning of every week of new campers. No relationships between counselors or campers. No exceptions. There hadn't been many issues with this rule, but if the details of this particular situation got out, it would definitely get twisted, and Dean and Cas could be kicked out of camp.

“Ok guys, let's get finished. We're going to mail these out tonight, you need to finish.”  

By about 3, the storm blew over and news was passed around the boys’ cabins that there was a mudslide.

Of course, the teenage boys went totally nuts, throwing on old clothes and sandals and stomping impatiently at the door for Dean and Cas to escort them.

“Ok dudes, this mudslide wasn't ok’ed by anyone with authority, so if they say we need to stop, you have to listen.”

There was a chorus of 13 agreements, weak as they were, but Dean took what he could get. Dressed in an old white shirt and a dirty pair of jorts from a previous week, Dean led the expedition up the steep hill to where the visitor’s center was.

The entire western side of the hill was covered in mud and screaming children. Other counselors tried to control the masses, but kids slid down on their stomachs at full speed, ignoring the “no running,” “be careful,” and “no pushing,” shouts from obviously frazzled counselors.

“Ok, go nuts,” said Dean as they reached the top.

“Play nice!” Cas called as the kids scattered like roaches in a cheap motel.

Dean and Cas sat on the railing of the visitor’s center porch, along with the other few counselors who had given up on controlling their charges.

“Hey, Dean-o! Cassie! Over here!”

Dean looked over to where the mechanically incompetent counselor of cabin 10 was in the middle of animatedly telling a story to a crowd of fellow employees.

It wasn't often that counselors from separate cabins had time to talk. Maybe a few minutes here and there, or an hour or so if they snuck out if their cabins to the cafeteria for midnight snacks where one was bound to run into at least one other person there for the same reason. It was a common practice that Dean appreciated and took advantage of on many occasions throughout the weeks, to the chagrin of Castiel.

“We were just talking about that kid on the banana boat,” supplied Gabriel. “You heard about it? Screamed the entire time. Actual screams. Had to go home he was scared so bad.” The group giggled.

The next 15 minutes were spent gossiping like schoolgirls about the odd antics of children in general.

“I had a kid who  _ would not sleep _ unless I checked her bed every night for bedbugs,” said a spunky blond girl. Jo was her name, if Dean remembered correctly.

Another girl laughed. “You think that's weird? I had a girl who wouldn't let anyone step on her bed. She had a pack of disinfectant wipes and she wiped of her own feet before climbing up.”

The group was silent for a moment, nodding in agreement. That  _ was _ weird.

Screams from the mudslide snapped everyone's attention away from their conversations. Plastic deck chairs fell backwards as counselors rushed out of them to see what was wrong. Dean and Cas were the first responders.

They ran --and slipped-- about a fourth of the way down the hill, where a kid was crying and clutching his knee to his chest.

“Are you ok?”

“What's wrong?”

Asked Cas and Dean as they reached him.

“Hey, back up. Give him some space,” Dean said, and the circle of curious campers grew larger as everyone took a step back.

“Let me see,” Cas gently pried the kids fingers off his knees to reveal a tiny scratch. A thin trickle of blood squeezed from one side.

Cas sighed and motioned for the kid's counselor to take him down to the nurse to get a band aid.

“He'll be fine,” he assured everyone still gawking. “I think we should all go clean up for dinner.”

Slowly the campers grouped together by cabin and made their way down to the showers.

Dean and Cas headed up the hill to where their own kids were waiting patiently, already in a group.

When Dean stepped on a particularly slippery clump of grass, he didn't even think before reaching over to grab Cas for balance.

Castiel, not expecting the weight of two people in his next step, slipped as well, and Dean fell right on top of him.

Neither could catch their balance or their breath for a few seconds. Dean regained his footing first after many unsuccessful attempts, and offered hand to his bunkmate.

Cas took it, but instead of pulling himself up, he pulled Dean down again. Whether it was by accident or on purpose, Dean couldn't be sure, but he wasn't too concerned about it at the moment. He was too busy rolling down the hill at breakneck speeds, holding Cas in a tight bear hug in a subconscious attempt to protect him.

It was over so quickly it felt as if it had never happened.

Except for the definite bruises he could practically feel forming on his ribs.

Cas rolled off of him (he had ended up on the top) and they stared at the gray cloudy sky in silence while their hearts slowed to a more normal rate.

“You ok?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Mmhm”

Screams and hoots announced the arrival of the rest of the cabin, who slid down the hill one last time on their stomachs.

Dean and Cas’ momentum hadn't taken them all the way to the bottom of the hill, which they were grateful for because at the bottom was a swampy mess of trampled grass and mud puddles.

The momentum from the boys, however, pushed them and the counselors blocking their path directly into the murky water, leaving all the occupants of cabin 13 a dripping, shivering, muddy mess.

“Straight to the showers,” Dean sighed, pulling his now brown and soaked shirt away from his chest.

Cas ruffled his hair, sending droplets of water in all directions and causing the boys to yelp and move out of the way as if they weren't already completely soaked themselves.

“There's a hose out back behind the maintenance shed by the bathrooms. There's probably no one there. We could do a quick rinse off while we waited for the showers,” Castiel suggested.

“Good thinking,” Dean nodded. Addressing the smaller humans he added, “Ok guys we're not gonna go back to the cabin until we’re mostly dry and clean. Hose off and move out of the way, ok?”

After a chorus of “OK's” and a sound off to make sure all were accounted for, they walked at a fast pace to the shed before anyone else could get the idea of using the hose.

The kids formed a line and Cas sprayed them off one by one. Dean was at the front of the line and as soon as all the clumps of mud were out of his hair he went to retrieve a towel and bar of soap. He was hoping to grab a quick shower, but the counselors didn't have their own showers, and all the shower stalls had lines longer than Dean's patience.

So, instead, he asked Cas to hold up the hose like a showerhead. Cas obliged on the condition that he do the same for him when he was finished.

The kids had run off to get shower supplies and wait in line for a stall (“Three campers per stall, swim trunks worn at  _ all  _ times, Eric.”) so Dean took off his shirt and shorts. They were now probably permanently stained brown, but he didn't care.

Standing under the freezing stream of hose water wearing only his boxer shorts, he began to wash his hair. He tried to go as quickly as possible, partly because he was freezing and partly because he felt strangely uncomfortable being in this position with Cas.

Cas apparently didn't feel the same way. He took his time as if the subzero temperature of the water had no effect on him at all. Dean let him use his bar of soap, and he had to keep an eye on it in case Cas dropped it into a mud puddle. Or at least, that's what he told himself as he watched Cas drag the little green block over his abs and chest.

Temporarily clean enough, they changed in the cabin and waited for the kids to get back.


	5. Week 3 (Go take a hike)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ever forgotten that u were in the middle of publishing a camp gay and accidentally left it on chapter four for like two weeks? i have. sorry.

When Dean’s alarm went off on the day of the Big Hike, he felt like dying. 

Cas was already moving around in the bunk underneath him, so Dean sat up and prepared to go about his day. As moodily as he could.

Hike Day happened once per week for each cabin, and it lasted the. Entire. Day. It also happened to be Dean’s absolute least favorite day of the week. The problem was, though, that none of the cabins knew which day was their Hike Day until the night before.

Dean had almost punched the young counselor when he knocked on their screen door 20 minutes before lights out to tell them the news.

Last night he’d gotten together his backpack of supplies so he didn’t have to get up even earlier than usual to get it ready (like Cas always did). Inside were snacks, a first aid kit that weighed at _least_ twenty pounds, flashlights, an emergency blanket, and a walkie-talkie that was for extreme emergencies only. Cas’ had more or less the same stuff, but with fewer snacks.

Dean rolled up and over his bunk railing, keeping himself from hitting the ground by grabbing on to the rail and lowering himself slowly (morning workout!) to the cold, wooden boards of the cabin floor. Cas was sitting criss-cross on his matress, grinning stupidly as Dean pulled his suitcase from under Cas’ bunk and rummaged around in it for a clean shirt.

“These bunks do have ladders, you know,” Cas pointed out, still grinning.

“Yeah, but then you’d never get to see me flex.” Dean flexed his arms in the Jusup Wilkosz pose, with his right arm shooting out to the side in what can only be described as a "Heil Hitler" pose, and his left arm over his chest, pointing to the right. 

“Jesus Christ, Dean. Put your arms down before you start the boys dabbing again.”

Dean quickly dropped his arms.

Cas laughed and moved to wake up the kids.

Dean pulled a shirt from his bag and slipped it over his head. He wore his hiking shorts (a pair of cargo shorts that he’d borrowed from Cas for the first week’s hike and then never gave back) and stuffed the pockets with allergy medicine and tissues. There was always that _one_ kid with allergies.

Dean heard Cas gently shaking the boys awake one by one. Some of them sat up, for some reason excited over the prospect of walking up hills all day. Dean knew they’d change their minds within the first 20 minutes.

They marched to breakfast and came back to grab their gear and get dressed.

While they were getting ready, Dean and Cas were sitting on the latter’s bed with a map, going over the hiking trail one last time.

“Cas, I don't feel well. I think you should go on without me,” Dean said suddenly and fell sideways across the bed. “My stomach hurts.”

Castiel sighed. “Dean, how old are you?”

Dean grumbled into the pile of blanket he’d planted his face in.

“What?”

“I _said_ ,” Dean repeated, picking up his head just enough for the blankets to not be touching his face, “that I’m not kidding. I’m gonna throw up.”

A few campers who had heard the exchange joined in, falling to the floor dramatically and whining about their stomachs.

“Ok, get up. Look what you started, Dean. We’re leaving in five minutes, you all had better be ready.”

Dean laughed and sat up. “And I would’ve gotten away with it too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids.”

Castiel just rolled his eyes.

~

Looking back, Dean wished he’d held onto some of that happiness. They’d only been hiking for an hour, but it already felt like days. The campers were complaining, the bugs were biting, and Dean was getting hungry.

And to make matters worse, Dean had to walk at the back of the group while Cas led them in the front so they wouldn’t lose anyone.

Dean hoped they lost _everyone_. The best parts of camp were the ones without kids.

“Dean, I got bit again,” whined a short blond kid who’d stopped along the trail until Dean was within earshot.

“Chris, we’ve sprayed half the can of bug spray on you. There’re no bugs within fifty yards of you.”

“No,” Chris insisted, “I got bit.”

Dean didn’t reply. Instead, he threw a bandaid at the whiner as he passed and kept walking. He knew Chris would follow right behind him.

As he walked he fantasized of the dinner they’d be greeted with when they finally returned. He also had a weird daydream of Cas tripping over a vine and twisting his ankle. Just as Dean was carrying the lame Castiel into their cabin, a kid tugged on his sleeve.

“Yeah, Xavier?” Dean tried not to let his annoyance show. A trickle of sweat rolled down his back. _94 degrees. Perfect weather for a hike_ , he thought.  

Xavier said, “Where’s Chris? Did you send him back to the cabin?”

The group of kids closest to Dean heard, and immediately stopped their trudging and turned back to him.

“What?”

“How come Chis got to go back?”

“I want to go back, too!”

“Not fair.”

Dean’s eye twitched, almost comically. By then the whole party had stopped.The cabin gathered around Dean, with Cas bringing up the rear, a confused grimace on his face.

“Listen up ya pack of wild fucks,” Dean called. “No one’s going back, not even Chris. If I gotta be out here, so do you.”

“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed. He was covering the ears of the kid closest to him. “You can't say that!” He pushed his way through the kids to yell at his bad-mouthing co-counselor.

Before he could say anything though, Dean looked him dead in the face with bloodshot eyes and said hoarsely, “Cas, buddy, I swear to god, if they complain o n e more time I will McFreakin lose it, so unless you want to add a human-caused casualty to go along with the heat stroke and stupidity, I suggest we do this and get it over with.”

Cas was a little taken aback, but that didn’t stop him from his lecture, and he definitely didn’t understand the vine reference.

“Dean, you _cannot_ call them that. If even one of them complains to anyone we’d be fired on the spot. You do know that, right?”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled. “Can we stop and rest for a while?”

Cas nodded after a second and went off to tell the kids. He glanced over his shoulder at Dean more than a few times.

Dean ignored him and took a long sip from his water bottle. He sat at the base of a large tree. The ground was kinda mushy, and he could feel the water seeping into his shorts, but he didn’t care.

“Dean?” It was Cas again.

Dean grunted instead of speaking. He didn’t look up from his bottle.

“Dean, we’re missing a camper.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “What? Who?”

“Chris. The kids said he went to talk to you and didn’t come back.”

Dean tried not to laugh. “Are you asking me if I killed him and hid his body in the woods while you guys weren’t looking?”

“Um… That’s oddly specific and not at all what I was asking, no. But since you brought it up, did you?” Cas had the fainted twinkle in his eyes, and the corners crinkled ever so slightly.

“I came close,” Dean admitted. “I gave him a bandaid for his ego and…” He trailed off.

“And?”

“ _And_ , he might’ve got left behind.”

“Ok everyone, don’t panic,” Cas yelled, panicking, at the definintely non-panicking kids.

“We just gotta go back and look for him,” Dean assured him. If Cas had a megaphone, Dean was sure he’d be using it to shout “stay calm” repeatedly.

Cas and Dean led the group back from where they’d come from, calling Chris every few steps.

It only took ten minutes to find him. He was stuck in a tree directly off the path. After they helped him down, he explained that he was trying to spot them from a higher perch. Dean carried him on his shoulders until they reached the spot where they left their backpacks and supplies.

After the scare, it was decided (by Castiel) that Dean wasn’t useful guarding the back of the group, so he hiked alongside Cas in the front. The kids kind of clustered around 

Cas pointed out the different types of trees, plants, and fungi they passed along the way. Dean was kinda sure he was making them up. “Quaking Aspen” and “Sweetgum” didn’t sound like real tree names.

Regardless, Cas looked like he was having a good time nerding out over plants. Had Cas been doing this the whole trip? Dang, Dean had been missing out in the back.

“What’s this one?” Dean asked, darting to the edge of the path and slapping the thick trunk of a dead-looking tree. Dean was sure he’d make the answer up. There was no way he knew all the trees just by looking at them.

Cas looked it up and said, “Red Oak.”

Dean sauntered sluggishly over to the next tree. “Aaaaand this one?”

“Dean, that’s another Red Oak. Are you even listening?”

Dean huffed, “of course,” and moved on to plants.

He plucked a leaf off a low bush-looking thing and walked slowly over to wave it in Cas’ face. He had to walk slowly. His stomach was feeling a little queasy --probably allergies-- but he didn’t want to risk any rapid motions, just in case.

“What’s this? It’s soft.”

“DEAN, IT’S POISON IVY PUT IT DOWN.” Cas took an over-dramatic step back.

Dean threw the leaf like a hot potato, a look of actual shookery on his face. It fluttered harmlessly in the air between them.

Cas caught it and laughed. The kids who had seen this go down also laughed, pointing at Dean and trying to reenact the scene.

“I’m kidding, Dean.” Cas flashed him a brilliant smile. “It’s just a bush. Probably a flowering one, I don’t know.”

Dean huffed and grabbed the leaf back.

“I knew that. Just testing you.” He said. “And I did _not_ look like that,” he added when he saw the kids mimicking his exact face of fear.

Cas raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“You passed,” Dean said stiffly, and kept walking.

Dean kept running ahead to look at trees (that he couldn’t tell the difference between) and occasionally wait for Cas and the children to catch up so he could ask what type one was.

“Dean Winchester, how old are you?” Cas asked for the second time that day.

Dean made a noise that would’ve been written as “?” if he were a character in a comic book.

“Stop running ahead. You’re supposed to be watching the kids too.” Cas’ eyes twinkled the tiniest bit in the afternoon sun. “ Do I need to hold your hand?”

“You guys are slow,” Dean said, already several yards ahead. “The faster we walk, the sooner we’ll be done, and I can go to bed.”

“Dean, give me your hand.” He held out his left hand. His right was already holding a troublemaker’s hand.

Dean laughed, and slowed. When Cas reached him, he held out his own hand, half expecting the other man to shoo him off. To his surprise, Cas took his hand and Dean had no choice but to walk closely beside him for the rest of the hike.

~

All in all, the hike wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. It definitely wasn’t the worst one so far.

Which was weird, because as soon as Dean set foot on the deck of their cabin, he turned and threw up right over the railing.

Thankfully, the campers were already inside, curling into fetal positions on their bunks.

“Dean!” Cas started, more out of surprise than anything else.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Too much trail mix.” Dean spit one last time and slapped the railing. “Gonna go rinse. Be back.” He ran to the bathrooms before Cas could see him get sick again.

Dean had his face in the sink when Cas came in to check on him.

“Dean, I know you’re sick,” he called from the doorway.

“Well I tried to tell you this morning,” Dean shot back, only partly serious.

Cas sighed. “Do you want to see the nurse? She'll probably send you home.”

Dean shook his head violently.

“I feel fine,” he told Cas.

“You just threw up all the trail mix you stole from me. You _are_ sick.”

“I'll be fine in the morning.” That part was true. Dean rarely ever got sick, but when he did he was back to normal within 24 hours.

“Are you sure? The nurse probably has something that could help.”

“Nah I'm good. I just need to sleep it off.”

“If you don't go to the nurse--”

“Cas, you're such a mom. I'll be fine, this happens all the time.”

“You throw up all the time? That could be a more seri-”

“No, I mean whenever I get sick. It lasts a day, max.” Dean dried his hands with the blow dryer attached to the wall directly to Cas’ right.

Cas had to yell to be heard over the roar of hot air.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Again.

“Yes, Castiel. I'm sure. I'll just skip dinner and go to sleep.”

Cas looked dubious, but said, “ok” anyway.

Back at the cabin, Dean stripped off his (Cas’) hiking shorts and kicked them carelessly under the bunk. His shirt followed. Dean really didn't want to take a shower, but he was really gross from the hike. And he didn't want his sleeping bag smelling like a men’s locker room.

He wrapped his towel around his waist and grabbed a bar of soap. Once he was hidden under the towel he shucked his boxer shorts and threw them with the rest of his sweaty clothes.

His shower was freezing cold, and lasted all of a minute.

He realized only as he reached for them that he realized he forgot to bring clean clothes. _Oops_ , He monologued internally. _Guess who's gonna streak across the campground!!_ _Not me, that's for sure._

He tried his towel tightly around himself and walked back to the cabin in soaking wet, loudly squeaking shower shoes.

The boys were still quietly laying in their bunks, probably reflecting on how good their lives were until their hike.

Dean pulled on a pair of boxers under his towel, tossed the towel across the rafters in the middle of the room, and climbed into bed.

He barely heard everyone leave the cabin for dinner, and he definitely wasn't awake enough to notice them returning afterwards.

He felt the bunk shake a little, and something cold was set on his forehead.

He might've mumbled, “thanks, Cas,” but he really couldn't remember if it had actually happened or if it had been a dream.

It was many hours later when he woke up, starving. That was always a good sign. He looked at his clock. 3:48.

 _I'd kill a man for a snack_ , he thought groggily. _Just a snack, then more sleep_.

He debated whether anyone would wake up if he tried to sneak out to the mess hall. Or even just to Cas’ snack stash on his window sill.

The damp washcloth slid off his head as he sat up. He hung it over the railing.

Dean shuffled over to the side of the bed, about to climb down when he heard Cas moving below him.

“Dean?” Cas’ hoarse whisper floated up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, you're awake. Feeling better?” Cas got up and stood so he could look at Dean. The light from outside cast weird shadows, and Dean could see Cas’ hair sticking up in all directions. “I brought you food from dinner but you were asleep. Do you want it now?”

“Castiel, I would die for you.”

“What?”

“I said ‘yeah, thanks.’”

Castiel tossed up two boxes of Froot Loops.

“I had milk, but it would've gone bad, so I drank it."

“Thanks. This'll work.”

“You know, this is the second time I've brought you food in three weeks. You're gonna have to bring me some someday.”

“Deal.” Dean spit crumbs everywhere.

“Goodnight, Dean.” Cas retreated back to his bunk and rolled over to the wall

Dean was pretty sure he heard him say ‘I'd die for you, too,’ but that would be weird, so he chalked it up to his active imagination.

In the morning, Dean felt at least a million times better. He’d fallen asleep with the serving box of cereal only half-eaten, so he woke up with Froot Loops in his hair and a fine dusting of colorful sugar all over his bare chest and back.

Castiel laughed so hard he accidentally woke up the campers ten minutes early, and they were _not_ happy at all.

Cas spent the morning running to the nurse for pain relievers for sore joints while Dean shook his sleeping bag and pillow out over the deck and kept the kids from stirring his puddle of vomit with sticks. 


	6. Week 4 (The Dare)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wonder what it's like to have a normal chapter updating pattern? i'm kinda avoiding updating cuz i've written all the chapters except number 10 so.... putting off writing that for as long as i can :))))   
> this chapter's really short i think but it's fine

**** “Hey! No splashing!” Dean shivered, knee deep in muddy creek water.

“I'm not splashing,” Castiel shot back a little hotly.

Both boys currently stood in the creek, the freezing water swirling around their bare legs. And both were stripped down to their underwear. Mud dried and hardened on their skin in rivulets, but the cool breeze made it feel like Dean had icicles stuck to his back.

The beam of the flashlight illuminated a strip of the creek at their feet, but not much else.

“How much longer?” Cas complained, teeth chattering.

Dean stooped down to let the light from the flashlight land on his watch. “eight more minutes.”

The pair groaned and counted down the seconds.

~Earlier~

“That’s not even a real dare!” Abby (short for Abbadon) shouted as loud as she dared in the empty dining hall. The nearest cabin full of sleeping children was only a couple hundred feet away.

“But you still gotta do it,” Gabriel taunted in a singsong voice. “Or you lose.”

Abby groaned and stood in place, reaching for her shoes in the pile off to the side.

There were twelve counselors sitting in a circle in the middle of the floor. They had pushed the dining tables to the corners of the room for more floor space. Everyone had discarded their shoes as they entered, and a high-powered flashlight stood upright in the middle of the circle.

It was close to 2am, all the campers had been sound asleep in their respective cabins. Gabriel and his co-counselor, Balthazar, had taken it upon themselves to round up a few other counselors for an impromptu (and very much against camp rules) truth or dare session.

Dean had nearly punched the blond guy in the face when he tried to gently shake him awake. Cas had been waiting in the dining hall when Dean finally showed up, still in his sleep shorts.

There was a chorus of “bye”s as Abby slipped on her sandals and out the door.

“That was the  _ best _ . Never would’ve thought to dare her to go back to her cabin.”

The rest of the group nodded silently. Abby wasn’t a very popular person.

“Ok! My turn then,” Balthazar cackled. “Jo, truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“Awwww c’mon, that’s so lame. Pick dare for once.”

“The last person to pick dare had to leave. And I’m not done with my pudding yet.” Jo held up the cup she stole from the kitchen cooler.

“Fair enough. Ok tell us… what was the most illegal thing you’ve ever done.”

Jo squinted at her pudding while she thought. “I… stole this pudding.”

There was an outburst as everyone chimed in with their opinions.

“There’s no  _ way  _ that’s the worst thing you’ve done,” shouted a loud girl named Hester.

“He meant ‘in your life’ not ‘today,” Ash scoffed.

Lilith only said, “Mmm. Try again.”

“Ok, ok, fine.” Jo laughed and set her snack down at her side. “I haven’t paid for music since like 2008.”

“Everyone does that,” Dean spoke up.

“Maybe, but it’s the worst I’ve ever done. And no one realizes there’s a ridiculous fine you have to pay if you get caught pirating music.” She picked up her cup, satisfied with the hand motions she’d thrown around while talking. “My turn. Ruby, truth or dare?”

“Hmmm…”  Ruby curled a lock of hair around a finger and looked suggestively at the closest (unfortunate) male, Adam. “Dare.”

Jo, unconcerned, shoveled a spoonful of pudding into her mouth before saying, “‘I dare you to yell “penis” out the door as loud as you can.”

Everyone in the room collectively went “ooooooooooh,” and the volume doubled when Ruby rose to the challenge.

She strutted to the door, threw it open, and took a deep breath.

Several birds that had been nesting in trees flew off screeching as Ruby’s yelling rang through the entire camp. If there had been any counselors left in the nearby cabins, they would have woken up. On the other hand, the campers could sleep through an atomic bomb, so there was no worry there.

Contentedly sitting down next to Lily (who was still sitting in Ash’s lap per a dare), she turned to the next victim. “Castiel, you’re up. Truth or dare,” Ruby batted her eyelashes at him.

“Oh, uh, I don’t…”

“Aw c’mon Cas. You can do it,” Dean laughed.

Cas had confided in him during Gabriel’s god-awful solo of Rebecca Black’s  _ Friday  _ that he’d never played truth or dare before, and Dean had to explain the rules “Truth if you want to tell us something embarrassing, dare if you want to do something embarrassing,” he’d said. Cas wasn’t so excited to participate.

“How bad can it be?” Dean prodded.

Cas fiddled with the fraying ends of the strings on his hoodie. “Dare,” he said finally.

Dean slapped him on the shoulder encouragingly.

Ruby narrowed her eyes and cupped her hands around her mouth to form a kind of muffled megaphone. “Double Jeopardyyyy,” she echoed. “This is a two people dare. Pick who you want your partner to be.”

“What? This isn’t in the rules.” Saying that Castiel was, as the kids say, “shook” would be an understatement.

“There are no rules, this is truth or dare. Pick someone or you automatically fail.”

“Dean?” Cas turned to him for a second opinion on the ‘the only rule is that there are no rules’ thing.

“Not gonna lie, Dean would’ve been my first choice too,” Ruby smirked.

“What? No, I wasn’t-” Cas tried to object, but Ruby talked over him.

“Ok so I dare you and your boyfriend to-”

“Hey, wait he didn’t-”

“Skinny-dip in the creek for at least ten full minutes.”

For the second time there was a chorus of “Ooooooooooh,” from the assembled.

Cas was in the middle of objecting when Charlie started chanting “do it, do it, do it,” and the rest of the counselors joined in. Only when they started stamping their feet to the rhythm did Cas drag Dean out the door, reminding them about the sleeping campers on the way.

The whole way down the path Dean complained. “Why’d you have to pick me,” he grumbled and kicked a rock out of the way.

The boys paused on a flat rock by the creek.

“They won’t know if we just… don’t,” Dean suggested.

“We can’t do that. Strip.”

“...Cas, I get all tingly when you take control like that.”

Cas gave an exasperated look and pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

An unspoken agreement was made, and the boys kept their boxers on.

The creek wasn’t deep enough to jump into, but there was a waist-deep area a few yards upstream that Cas led Dean to. They walked through the water to the spot. The water was ice cold, and the summer breeze blew cold air into their bare skin.

“Hey! No splashing!” Dean shivered, knee deep in muddy creek water.

“I'm not splashing,” Castiel shot back a little hotly.

“How much longer?” Cas complained, teeth chattering.

Dean stooped down to let the light from the flashlight land on his watch. “eight more minutes.”

The pair groaned.

Cas moved to walk further into the creek.

“What’re you doing? Stop moving it’s cold.”

Cas didn’t stop moving. “...It’s not skinny-dipping if you don’t swim,” he said. “We at least have to go underwater or they’ll see that we aren’t wet.”

Dean made a growling noise deep in his throat, then silently snuck up behind his bunkmate. When he was close enough to touch him, Dean jumped onto Cas’ back, causing them both to fall flailing into the water.

Dean came up laughing. He stopped soon after getting water splashed into his mouth by a disgruntled Cas.

“What the hell, Dean?”

“Hey, language. Remember the children,” Dean mocked Cas’ lecture from their first week together. “You said we had to get wet.”

“Not like this I didn’t,” Cas objected, splashing Dean again.

Dean laughed and pushed Cas under again. Cas resurfaced and spit a mouthful of water into Dean’s face.

Neither of them saw the group of nine counselors hiding just in the tree line, watching them.

“Dude,” said Adam.

“Gaaaaaaaay,” Gabriel stage whispered. The assembly laughed quietly, then retreated back to the mess hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might've already said this but:
> 
> life hack!!! leave kudos!!!! its fast, easy, and free!!!!! and i appreciate them thx


	7. Week 5 (The Realization aka the nast :/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, still haven't finished that one chapter. I wrote like a page of it so im 10%ish there but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ enjoy this chapter for now.

On the final day of the next week, after all the campers had gone home and the cabins had been tidied up in preparation of the next week’s worth of kids, Dean had some time to himself to think. It was his last day at camp. By tomorrow he'd be at home, and his life would go right back where it had been for the past 18 years --nowhere.

The bathroom was completely empty when Dean went to take his last shower of the summer at Camp Crossroads. He set up his phone to blast hard rock. This was the one day per week he could openly use his phone. Electronics were on the “cannot use at camp” list, even for counselors. Or at least, when the campers were looking. When their charges were asleep, it wasn't uncommon for a counselor to sneak out to make phone calls or answer texts.

Dean skipped several good songs until he found one he was in the mood to listen to. He set his phone on the bench in front of his shower stall along with his change of clothes, stripped, and stepped into the stall, pulling the flimsy double curtain closed as he went.

The stalls were always freezing. It was like the ceramic tile on every wall sucked all the warmth right out of it. During the week, when there were lines of boys stretching way out the door waiting to use the showers, the whole building was filled with steam, and the terrible ventilation made it a pretty good sauna. Castiel’s hair poofed wildly when it was exposed to so much humidity.

Dean set the weak stream of water all the way hot and stayed out of the way as the steam gradually made the air seem less like the Arctic and more like a rain forest.

Finally reaching comfortable temperature, Dean turned the water down to just warm and began his two-minute shower ritual.

He used his bar of soap to wash his hair along with the rest of his body. There was no sense in spending so much money on fancy shampoos and body washes when a two-dollar bar of soap did the job just as well.

Anyone entering the shower room any time after that probably would only hear Dean's music and not the low moans coming from the only occupied stall.

Hey, it was the one time a week he was alone, he was gonna make the most of it.

Dean let his hands take over, completely shutting his brain down. His breathing hitched, and his moans turned into one-syllable exclamations.

“Cas... Cas...”

Only after finishing did Dean realize what he’d done.

He leaned against the wall, letting the warm water take away all the evidence along with his guilt.

Stepping out of the stall and toweling off, Dean thought --actually thought-- about his relationship with Cas. They'd known each other for only five hectic weeks, but Dean felt more comfortable around him than anyone else he'd ever know. Dean knew he enjoyed Cas’ company. When he really thought about it, Castiel Novak was his closest friend. Plus, he was nice, funny, great with kids…

Oh my god. He was an idiot. An actual, honest to goodness idiot.

He had to be, to not realize that he'd been gradually falling for his co-counselor over the past full month.

Maybe he'd been in denial? That would make sense. After all, He'd only ever been with girls. He'd never even thought about guys like that.

...Well, not _seriously_ anyway.

But he knew couldn't tell Cas. Ever. He couldn't risk losing the friendship they had, new and untested as it was. But he couldn't pine over a dude he couldn't have --or a dude in general. That’s gay. And Dean was not gay.

Or maybe all this was just camp fever. He’d read about it when he was googling summer camps out of boredom before he left home. Apparently it was something like “no one here is attractive but you’ve been devoid of hot people for so long that you’re desperate.” That sounded realistic, actually. There was no way Dean was falling for a dude, no matter how pretty he _thought_ he thought he was.

Wait? Pretty? Who said anything about Cas being pretty? He totally wasn’t. Dudes can’t be pretty. Dudes had to be handsome, or sexy, or absolutely _shredded_ . “Pretty” made Dean think of twinks, which was _not_ what he wanted to think about. “Pretty” wasn’t an adjective used for guys like Cas. Dean made a mental note to look for a better word to use for Cas.

Dean pinched himself in the arm and said aloud, “You don’t need a word to describe him, he's just Cas.”

Honestly, if Dean didn’t have limited data, he’d definitely be googling some hardcore lesbian porn to make himself feel like less of a fucking flower.

Ugh, he just needed more time to think this through.

Dean turned off his phone in the middle of a fire Metallica song. He just wasn't feeling it. He needed a distraction.  

While his phone was in hand, Dean checked his email for messages for Sam (John had broken his brother’s phone in an incident involving a hunting knife and a spider a few days earlier, and Sammy hadn't gotten a new one yet, so the pair communicated temporarily via email). Nothing new, he was about to shut down his phone when he saw the acceptance email from camp that he still hadn't gotten around to deleting.

Seeing it triggered his memory, and he opened it to check something.

“Blah blah blah…” Dean skimmed through the “congratulations, you're in!” part. That wasn't what he was looking for. Toward the end of the email, he found it. He read aloud, “ _The month of August remains open if you wish to extend your stay_.”

He plopped himself down on the bench and reread the sentence twice, three times.

The time would help him sort out his feelings, for sure --if they were even real feelings. An entire ‘nother month would be plenty of time. Plus, he wasn’t really excited at the idea of going home so soon. Another month away couldn’t hurt.

So Dean decided.

He would ask to stay for the last few weeks until the camp closed down. Forsorting out his stupid, super exaggerated feelings, mostly, but there was also a part of him that liked camp. Looking past the crap sleep hours and less than cooperative children, camp was fun. The adrenaline from the ziplining, the great food, and the best co-counselor he could ask for.

Dean stood and dressed hurriedly. He hoped there was still a spot open for him to stay.

After a quick stop at cabin 13 to put away his shower supplies and switch out his shower shoes for sneakers, Dean headed up the steep hill to the welcome center. He knew that the camp director, the man to discuss an extended stay with, was there in his office, filling out the last of the camp paperwork for the final week of July.

The building was one of the only ones in the camp that was air conditioned, and Dean felt goosebumps rising on his arms as he stepped through the glass doors and made his way down the hallway. He wished he'd spent more time drying his hair.

He knocked at the door at the end of the hall marked _Director_ , and when a muffled voice from within called, “come in,” he pushed it open and stepped inside.

The office was brightly lit; a lamp blazed on each side of the huge desk that sat in the center of the office. In comparison, the Director, Chuck Shurley, looked tiny.

Director Shurley was a short man, barely reaching Dean's shoulders when they stood side by side. He always wore frumpy sweaters with the collar of a dress shirt poking up messily, even in the boiling summer heat. _That’s probably the reason the building’s so air conditioned_ , Dean thought vaguely before turning his focus back to the man in charge. He wore skinny reading glasses, and Dean thought they made his face look bloated. Well…  more bloated.

“Please. Sit,” Mr. Shurley motioned to the chairs at the front of his enormous desk. He pulled the thin glasses off his face, folded them, and set them on the paperwork in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

Dean sat. The chair made a weird crinkling sound as he rested his weight into it, like it was stuffed with plastic bags.

Dean cleared his throat, then plunged in.

“I wanted to know if you… Uh, I was wondering if you had any spots left for a counselor for the next couple weeks?” Dean's voice sounded squeaky, even to himself, so he cleared his throat again.

“Well, I happen know for a fact we have quite a few spots left.” He pulled a folder from a precarious stack and skimmed through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. “We need another counselor in cabin 9 --Ash is leaving us-- and in cabin 14, if you'd rather be closer to the bathrooms.”

Dean tried his best not to look disappointed. He had known since his first day that Cas was assigned to cabin 13 for the whole time the camp was open.

“Well, I was kinda hoping to stay where I was. In cabin 13? If maybe I could do that?”

After all, the main reason he was staying was for the dorky guy.

Dean mentally kicked himself for thinking that. This was about more than just Castiel. He was already settled in cabin 13, that was all. No sense in luging all his stuff across the campgrounds if he didn’t have to.

Mr. Shurley nodded seriously, but Dean could see a twinkle in his eye.

“Well, I can't officially say _yes_ until I've asked the counselor we were going to replace you with if he's fine with switching somewhere else, but I don't think that will be a problem.”

Dean smiled widely.

“Awesome,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking.

The director laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Thanks so much.” Dean stood to leave. Chuck stood as well and offered his hand over the desk. Dean took it and shook it enthusiastically.

He practically skipped all the way back to cabin 13.

When he got back, Cas was leaning against the deck rail, clipping his fingernails over the side. Dean scoffed. Why Cas couldn’t just bite off his nails like the rest of ‘em he’d never understand.

“Hey,” Dean called when Cas looked up, hearing approaching footsteps.

Cas smiled and waved before turning back to his task.

“Got some good news.” Dean casually walked by his co-counselor and into the cabin without offering further information, kicking his shoes off on his way past.

The cabin seemed so empty without kids in it. Dean began his post-week check for forgotten belongings, starting with the bunks right in front of the door.

The screen door was propped open with a rock that Cas had painted some years back, or at least that’s what Castiel had told Dean when he was making fun of it one morning.

“What’s it supposed to be?” Dean had laughed. “Looks like a candy cane made by a colorblind kid.

Cas had smiled to himself and told Dean to shut up. “Its a bumblebee. They’re suppposed to be yellow and black you know. I made it my second summer here --as a camper. My counselor liked it so much he made it the official door holder. I didn’t know it’d still be here.”

“Yeah I saw it by the steps when we first moved in. Thought it was an albino raccoon.”

“You did not!” Castiel had laughed loudly.

“Swear to god,” Dean had laughed with him.

Now the rock was propping the door wide open, putting Dean and Cas in each other’s direct line of sight.

Dean climbed to the top bunk and checked the top of the low rafters above the bed. That was always a popular spot to stash things. Dean found a granola bar and a pinecone that was perfectly symmetrical. He ate the granola bar and tossed the pinecone onto Cas’ bed.

“Well? Are you going to tell me?” Cas said from outside.

“Tell you what?” Dean spewed granola bits all over the matress he was sitting on. He brushed them to the floor and checked to make sure Cas hadn’t seen him.

Cas was still leaning on the railing, but now he was facing the cabin instead of away from it.

“The good news?”

“Oh. yeah.” Dean climbed to the next bunk over. They were pretty close together, so he had no trouble sliding over. “I taked to the director.”

“You did? Why?” Dean wasn’t looking at him, but Castiel’s voice sounded a little apprehensive.

“Oh, nothing major, I guess.” Dean paused to check under the matress. Nothing. “We just talked about August. I asked if i could stay.”

Cas seemed to materialize at Dean’s side.

“You did? What did he say?” Cas’ face was alight, Dean noticed, and a little flushed. Probably just sunburnt again he guessed.

“I did.”Dean laid across the bare matress on his stomach, pretending that the plastic of it didn’t stick uncomfortably to his sweaty legs and arms. “ _And_ he said I could stay.”

Cas’ face split into a wide grin, but before he could say anything, Dean cut in.

“But,” Dean forced his own smile down and put on a more solemn face. “But, he said I’d have to move to cabin 9.”

Cas tried to not let his composure slip, but he didn’t succeed.

“Oh,” Cas deflated. “Well, I guess if that’s what they need you to do…”

Dean couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, and pressed his face into the crook of his elbow, laughing.

“Hey, what’s so--”

“I’m stayin’ here, you loser. Gotcha.”

Cas rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Ooh, I got you _good._ You should’ve seen your face. It was all like, “no, don’t leave me, Dean. What will  I do without you?” Dean rolled onto his back so he could put a hand across his forehead dramtically.  

Cas threw his nail clippers at Dean’s laughing figure, sprawled out on a kid’s bed in a stuffy cabin in the middle of the woods. His home for another month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also..... im always a slut for kudos..... please leave em


	8. Week 6 (Heckin friendship bracelets)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been more than a week oops

Smack dab in the middle of the first week of August, Camp Crossroads’ first ever Free Day was held. Instead of counselors leading their groups of children to the various activities, they gave them free reign of the entire campgrounds. Counselors manned the tables and activities peppered across the camp on an “I got here first, I’m in charge of this,” basis.

Dean phisically could not be happier if he tried. So many weeks of shepherding hoards of whiners to and from various activites was really getting old. He even had a t-shirt tan from all the sun exposure.

Apparently it wasn’t “appropriate” for him to walk around the campgrounds without a shirt, as he had been told by a flustered Castiel one morning. Dean had walked out the door with nothing but a backpack on his back, his thought process something like, “uneven tan because of shirt. No shirt = even skin tone.” He thought he looked fine. What self-respecting man _wouldn’t_ walk around topless in hiking boots and cargo shorts? Cas had made him put on a shirt, even when Dean made the very valid point of no one being able to check out his “sick abs” if he put on a shirt.

Since then, Dean had spent some extra time sunbathing by the pool while pretending to supervise the campers. He’d even borrowed some oil stuff that smelled like coconut milk from a female camper who promised it would help even out his farmer’s tan --not that he’d ever admit to using it, of course. He used regular sunscreen on the tanned parts of his arms and neck, and smeared the oil all over his chest. He even rolled up his swim trunks (just a little, mind you) to extend the tan up his thighs even further. He looked ridiculous, he knew, sprawled out on a plastic lawn chair with a borrowed pair of too-tight swim trunks (his own had been tossed into a tree by a mystery camper, and had ripped down the front when Dean pulled them from the branches. Thankfully someone had brought a spare pair. Unfortunately, it was Gabriel, and they were neon green) but he was in it for the long run. The stares and jokes at his expense from Castiel would be worth the sun-kissed look his pecs would have for the rest of the summer and some time afterwards. After a week of this, he was satisfied that his tan was even, and returned the half-empty bottle of tanning oil.

But for today, Dean was sick of the sun. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t reconsidered staying at Camp Crossroads for another month. It was too late for him to back out now, he knew, but somehow fantasizing about his own air conditioned house made him feel like he’d made the wrong choice.

As soon as the Free Day started, Dean practically dragged Cas to the nearest craft table. Craft tables were at a picnic table, and were one of the few things that were held under a roof. Dean was _not_ going to work all day in the sun and it’s 90+ degree bullshit.

“Claimed!” Dean yelled, slapping the table just seconds before another counselor who had had the same idea. He retreated in defeat.

Dean sat on the peeling, green-painted bench. He pulled the table’s instruction sheet out from under tangles of string, glue, tape, and scissors.

“Friendship bracelet making,” he read aloud to Cas, who settled across from him. “I’ve never made a friendship bracelet.”

“Maybe that’s because you have no friends,” Cas offered.

Dean threw a roll of tape at his face. His co-counselor caught it effortlessly.

“Here I’ll show you,” Cas grabbed the instruction sheet. “What color do you want?”  

“Um, I don’t care… blue.” Dean tried to reposition himself on the bench. When he lifted his leg, flakes of paint stuck to it. Whether it was from his sweaty legs or the weatherworn wood, he didn’t care. He pulled a few brightly colored sheets of construction paper from the mess on the table and slid them under his legs, ignoring the raised-eyebrow look from his co-counselor.

Cas picked out a few different shades of blue and showed Dean how to tie it into a simple bracelet. He tied a knot, binding all the strings together, and twisted the first few rows to show Dean the process. He taped the end securely to the table in front of Dean, and left him to finish it by himself.  

Dean worked on his bracelet while Castiel showed the few campers who showed up how to make their own. Other stations like archery and the pool were attracting the most attention, leaving only a handful of kids at the other activities. Cas easily handled the ones at their table by himself, letting Dean work.

Sometimes Cas would say something like “Do you see how Dean is making his? That’s what you have to do… only better,” or “Wow, you’re much better at this than Dean is,” which would make the kids laugh, but Dean kicked him under the table every time.

After almost a full half hour, Dean’s first ever friendship bracelet was finished. He held it up admiringly and dangled it in front of Castiel’s face until he noticed it.

“Aww, that’s super cute, Dean. Do you want me to tie it on your wrist?” Cas asked, the exact same thing he’d been asking 10 year olds since this morning.

“No, you geek, you can’t make friendship bracelets for yourself, how lame is that. This is for you. I’m gonna tie it to your wrist. Give it here.”

Cas just laughed and held his right arm over the table. Dean tied a small but sturdy knot and sawed the excess string off with a pair of dull safety scissors, absolutely not drawing the process out longer than it needed to be so he could hold Cas’ hand a little longer.

When Dean gave him back his arm, Castiel examined his new accessory.

“Nice job --for a first try, that is.” The technique was the simplest one there was -a braid of four different colors. There were three blues and a white. Cas held his wrist up to his face. “Matches my eyes too.” He fluttered his eyelids in the actual _gayest_ way Dean had ever seen.

Dean scoffed. “Shut up.”

Cas paused for a minute, staring into Deans eyes. Dean couldnt help himself; he blushed and turned away.

Cas slid a hand over the modest sized pile of bracelets he had made (in the time it had taken Dean to make one) and picked out a green one. It was one of the thicker ones, with green and black horizontal stripes.

Cas held it out in a silent request. Dean offered his arm.

Cas expertly tied it and snipped off the ends.

“There. Now we match.”

“...How do we match?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean? Blue for my blue eyes and green for your green eyes.”

“Pfft. What are we, twelve?”

Cas stuck his nose in the air snotilly. “Twelve and a _half_.”

The pair burst out laughing.

“I wanna do another one.” Dean said after they’d calmed down.

“Are you sure you have time?” Cas teased.

Dean threw a ball of string at him.

“Oh, you wanna race? I’ll crush you.” Dean stood and leaned over the table faux menacingly.

“Dean, you’ve made one bracelet and I’m just finishing up my fourth. Do you really think-”

“Scared, Novak?”

Cas grinned and tossed the ball of string Dean had thrown back to him. “Pick a color.”

Both boys continued their day by helping groups of campers make each other bracelets, while seeing how many spiteful bracelets they could make each other in the time on between.

(“I made you a black one because it matches your heart.”

“Yeah? Well I made you this brown one cuz it’s shitty, like your personality.”

“I made you this purple one because you seem to think you’re royalty.”)

By the end of the day both counselors had several friendship bracelets, and Dean had managed to advance to the spiral-braid technique.

 

~

 

Later that night in the dining hall --it was spaghetti night-- Dean and Cas were arguing passionately over creamy vs. crunchy peanut butter.

“Crunchy is better, you’re absolutely wrong,” Dean said, shoving a whole meatball in his mouth. “Creamy is like…. It’s like flavored glue. Theres nothing special about it.”

“I can’t be wrong if it’s my opinion, Dean. And don’t eat like that, it’s disgusting.”

Dean scoffed around the ball of  meat wedged into his cheek. “First of all, it’s not an _opinion_ , it’s a _fact_. And second, you cut your spaghetti before you eat it. Who even does that? The whole point is to swirl it around your fork.”

“The ‘ _whole point_ ’ is to eat it without making a mess. And peanut butter is for sandwiches. You’re not supposed to eat it straight from the jar.”

This went on for the first 15 minutes of dinner. It would’ve gone on longer had the cabin’s bully of the week, Carl, not slapped the boy next to him with a spaghettus (the singular form of spaghetti). The kid he hit, William, was, by this point, so fed up with Carl that he snapped. William’s entire plate ended up upside down on Carl’s head.

It took every ounce of strength Dean still had not to burst out laughing. Cas skipped the laughing bit and went straight to yelling.

“William! Carl! Outside, now!”

Cas tried. Dean had to give him credit. However, by then someone had already yelled “food fight” at the top of their lungs and the dining hall erupted in screams and shrieks as spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, and plasticware flew through the air. Dean dodged a ketchup packet as it flew past his face. It hit the kid behind him right between the eyes.

Dean couldn’t help laughing when Cas got smacked straight in the face by a handful of spaghetti. Most of it splattered sauce everywhere and dropped to his lap, but a few strands clung to his head and hung like emo bangs from 2004.

Cas glared at him. Spearing half a meatball with his flimsy fork, he bent it backwards and flung it at Dean’s open mouth. Dean almost choked and his laughter turned into a stuttery chuckle.

Someone from across the room threw a dinner roll and it bounced off Dean’s chest. He threw it back in the general direction from whence it came.

All across the dining hall counselors were yelling at kids and getting hit by plate after plate of food, yet there Dean and Cas were, throwing it at each other like a couple of kids.

It got to the point where all the girl campers but a few were huddled under their tables and all the boys were scooping up used spaghetti from the floor for reuse. The whiney pop song playing over the intercom in the dining hall was drowned out by screams. 

A counselor with a deep booming voice shouted “QUIET” at one point. Everyone momentarily shut up, until someone threw a meatball at him and they lost it all over again.

Someone dropped a full cup of milk, and several people slipped while trying to escape. With his vantage point so close to the door, Dean got a front-row seat to watch the pileup of the milk slip-n-slide victims grow.  Dean watched as the cracked cup, having been kicked by a flailing girl, rolled way to the side and stopped with a jolt against a well-polished pair of business shoes. 

Dean froze, meatball catapult (his fork) halfway drawn when his gaze traveled the short distance from the shoes to the face. Chuck Shurley. The Director. Yikes, they were all so dead. 

Dean must’ve said that last part out loud, because Cas gave him a questioning look and followed his gaze to the doorway.

One by one, everyone in the room noticed his presence and stopped. He was just standing there, arms crossed, looking like he was rethinking his entire career choice. Coincidentally, Dean was too. 

“Not again,” Dean heard him mumble. Louder he said, “Who started this?”

William ducked under the table. 

Cas sighed and raised his hand shamefully.

“It was us,” Dean spoke up when the director seemed to overlook Cas’ hand waving in the air.

Chuck slowly turned his attention to Dean and Cas’ table, probably assessing the damage. The kids were shuffling their feet, kicking meatballs on the process. Chuck met Cas’ gaze, and it seemed to Dean that an unspoken message had been shared. Cas broke eye contact first, and Chuck shifted to Dean.

Dean didn’t back down. He didn’t feel guilty. He knew he should, of course. But really, what could he do to Dean. It’s not like he’d send him home for throwing some sub-par chunks of meat across the room. 

Oh, god. He wouldn’t, would he? Panic welled up in Dean’s chest. He wasn’t ready to go. He almost missed Chuck’s next words.

“Your cabin is responsible for cleaning this mess up. The rest of you had better get out of here.”

Nobody moved.

“ _Now_." 

There was a commotion as the counselors shuffled their kids outside to the relative safety of their cabins. Chuck stepped aside to let them pass through the doble doors, tracking tomato sauce as they went.

When everyone but Dean and Cas’ group had left, Chuck gestured the two counselors over to him so they could chat without the kids hearing.

“You know the drill I’m sure, Castiel,” Chuck started after cleaning his thin glasses slowly and placing them back onto his face.

Castiel nodded solemnly.

“I’ll go over it again anyway for Dean’s sake. After you clean up this mess, you take your kids right back to your cabin and they go straight to bed. No campfire tonight for them. If you two want to sneak out, that’s fine, just don’t let them see. And, please, don’t let it happen _again_.” Dean noticed he put extra stress on the word “again”. He continued, “Sound fair?”

Actually, Dean didn’t think it sounded fair. Sure, they’d started it, but everyone else participated and kept it going. Why were they the only ones being punished? No campfire meant that the boys would be in the cabin for an extra hour and a half. There was no way they’d actually go to sleep that early, campfire or not.

Castiel just nodded again. Seeing that Dean wasn’t doing the same, he sent an elbow to his ribs. Dean nodded once, prodding a lump of spaghetti with his boot and spinning his green friendship bracelet around his wrist.

With that, Chuck carefully maneuvered around the food-splattered linoleum, took a yogurt cup and a plastic spoon from the kitchens, and left.

The kitchen workers had helpfully laid out the mops, buckets, brooms, and rags they would need when they went to get started.

Every kid had a job. Some wiped down the walls, tables, and chairs, some swept up the less-liquidy food on the floor, and the rest mopped. Dean and Cas rotated groups and helped them out.

While they were working, Cas told them about last summer, when his cabin had done the exact same thing, except then they had been banned from campfire for the rest of the week, and had to help the kitchen staff clean not only the cafeteria, but lso the dishes from that night. This didn’t seem to lift anyone’s spirits any. They were silent as the filled the trash cans with wasted food. 

Dean pulled the spaghetti out of many boys’ hair, and helped them move the wiped down tables to the sides of he room so they could mop more easily.

When Cas took off his shoes and set them on the deck, everyone else wordlessly did the same.

Dean tried his best to make them feel better after Cas’ failed attempt. He told them all at least twice how they weren’t the only ones to blame, and assured them that they wouldn’t be calling anyone’s parents.

None of the campers laughed when Dean slid across the wet floor on his knees while pretending to play a mop like an electric guitar. Cas did though.

Finally, almost three hours later --long after the kitchen staff had left-- they were finished. The dining room was pretty much spotless. There was a small splattering of spaghetti sauce on the wall above the door frame, but there was no way for them to safely reach it, so they all pretended it wasn’t there.

Dean emptied the trash and replaced the bags while Cas escorted the kids to the showers for a quick rinse before cabin arrest began.

Dean beat them back to the cabin. He took the time to check his phone and take a picture of his stained clothes, face, and arms to send to Sammy later. He also gathered up his clothes and shower supplies. He put them in a camp-issued drawstring backpack and hung it on the deck railing for easy access.

When the kids came back, skipping happily as if nothing had ever happened, Dean shooed Cas back out the door to take his shower.

He got the campers settled down enough to straighten up the cabin a little and got them in bed before Cas returned. It was difficult because the kids could hear the occasional sounds of laughter and screaming from the campfire. The whole week they’d been going to bed no earlier than 10, and it was only quarter to 9.

When Cas finally returned, all clean and smelling like a snack, Dean took his turn at the showers. Grabbing his bag from the deck, he rushed to get there and back before Cas could sneak out to the campfire without him.

When he did return, not 15 minutes later, Cas was already in his sleep clothes, lying in bed, quietly reading a magazine. They boys were quiet and solemn in their bunks. Most were under their blankets or zipped up in their sleeping bags, probably hiding from the still-setting sun and the noises of other kids haing fun.

Cas moved his legs up for Dean to it at the foot of his bed. The two whispered as quiely as they could. 

“Why do you look like you’re going to go to sleep?”

“Dean, we’re confined to the cabin. What else is there to do?” 

Dean had a whole _list_ of things they could do, but there were children present so none of them would be a good idea.  

“Cas, _we_ arent stuck here, just the kids. Director What’s-his-face said so.” Dean did know What’s-his-face’s name but he was still a little bitter about the unfairness of the punishment.  

“We’re being punished too, Dean. I’m not leaving. It’s not fair.”

“You’re right, it’s not fair. I’m going to the campfire, and you’re coming with me.”

“But-”

“No buts. When everyone’s asleep. Be ready.” Dean was sick of Cas denying himself all the good things camp had to offer, like midnight swims, late night kitchen raids, and free wifi if you stood close enough to the welcome center.

Dean shimmied up to his own bed and sat quietly, staring at the ceiling,  while he waited for the kids to fall asleep. He didn’t have to wait long; it only took half an hour for everyone to be out cold. The days of late nights and early mornings must have finally caught up with them. 

Dean slipped onto the floor and nudged Cas while he reached under the bed for shoes. Cas sighed but took the shoes Dean held out to him and followed him out the door. 

They walked in silence, just in case their voices floated back to their cabin.

“We need to stop at the mess hall first,” Cas broke the silence. 

“Why? They’ll have s’mores at the campfire.”

“We missed the rafters. We have to them before we go to the campfire. We’ll get in trouble in the morning if we don’t.” The rafters were exposed and pretty low in the mess hall. They were part of the rugged, outdoorsy aesthetic.

“Ugh, fine. It better be quick though. I want a s’more.”

They took a quick detour through the bathrooms to the mess hall.

Cas grabed a rag and a sponge mop. Dean filled a bucket with sudsy water and followed him to the messiest of the rafters. There was spaghetti still hanging down like streamers. Dean didn’t know how they’d missed such an obvious spot.

It took longer than Cas had originally speculated to clean just the one rafter. The mess had had time to dry and harden onto the wood, and it required some real elbow grease to get it off.

When the pair was halfway through with the third, Dean let Cas take over for a while whilst he raided the kitchen. He brought back two chocolate milks and two boxes of cereal. He handed Cas a milk and poured the other into his cereal (corn flakes). Pulling a spoon from his back pocket, he began eating.

“We’re out of Raisin Bran,” He told Cas, offering out the other box and spoon. He knew that Raisin Bran was his favorite. What a nerdy cereal. “I can grab you something else if you want.”

“That’s ok. I’ll have this. Thank you.”

They sat together, leaning back against a wall with their knees touching. The crunching of the cereal was the only noise for long while. Dean thought it was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im going to reply to literally every comment this chapter gets because i have nothing to do for the entire rest of this week. If ya have questions.... or nice things to say to me.... do it thx


	9. Week 7 (TREEHOUSE THX)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow two chapters in one day?? y'all are weLCOME.   
> For real though this is my actual favorite chapter and its kinda short so i figured id post it now.  
> How about ya leave kudos/comments as a thank you? i think that's fair :)))

On the last night of every week, the day before the kids went home and the camp prepared for new kids to show up, Camp Crossroads had a sort of theme party at the campfire to celebrate a great week. Week one had been a fourth of July themed party, with streamers and balloons and firecrackers. Week two was a pajama party (Castiel looked adorable in his borrowed shark onsie), week three was superheroes (underwear on the outside with pillowcases as capes. Dean was still mentally scarred), four was Christmas in July (Dean was a reindeer, Cas was an elf), five was fairy tales (Dean got a lot of compliments on his Rapunzel dress), and six was outer space (Plastic fishbowls over everyone’s heads were required).This week’s party was beach themed.

Dean wore his green Hawaiian print swim trunks and a lei from the camp's supply. He walked all the way out to his car and brought back two pairs of reflective aviator sunglasses for himself and Cas.

At the campfire, beach balls were bouncing in the crowd of people mingling on the benches. All the counselors carried tiki torches that had leis tied around them which billowed out behind them as they walked. Some wore multiple leis, lookin like they were wearing flower turtlenecks.

There were watermelon slices, fruit punch, and water bottles set up on tables that Dean knew no one would touch after the first half hour had passed and all the gnats and flies found them.

These parties were the opportune time for friends to collect contact information from all their friends if they wanted, and Camp Crossroads offered a little notebook and pen for that very reason.

Dean watched as kids passed around their notebooks for anyone to write in. Some of the counselors were even doing so amongst themselves. Dean had neglected to grab a notebook, and they had run out early this week, but Dean wasn't concerned. The only person he was even a little concerned about keeping in touch with would be with him for another three weeks. He’d just have to snag one early on next week.

Dean did, however, write his info in any counselor's notebook that made its way to him.

“Dean?”

Dean turned only to have a notebook shoved into his face.

“Can I have your autograph?” It was a boy in his cabin. He'd been almost too shy to talk when he'd first showed up at the beginning of the week, but at Dean's persistence, had really opened up to his cabin mates and had made friends.

“Of course, my man.” Dean signed it with a signature that definitely wasn't his, but it looked dramatic and loopy, and the kid seemed to like it.

After a half hour or so, the counselors gave out awards to each camper they had for the week. Silly things like “most likely to be reincarnated as a shark” and “most likely to hit a totally gnarly wave, dude,” but they were always a big hit.

After the awards and another half hour of partying, the younger kids went up to bed, and the teenagers were taken to the after party, which was really just loud music and even louder talking, but whatever.

After a quick stop at the cabin to get sweatshirts and change out of beach clothes, Dean and Cas led their group to a barn in the very back of the property where the after party was held. They had to walk through a shallow creek and through fields of grass taller than most of the kids, and to top it off it was pitch dark. Dean sliped off the stepping stone path that cut through the creek, and his shoe flled with freezing water. It was almost 10pm, and the moon was hidden behind thick clouds.

Pop music was already playing over the speakers when the first partiers arrived. The lights were glaringly bright after the walk through The Void. There was a cotton candy machine as well as a snow cone maker on a table in a corner. Dean was in charge of manning the snow cones for the first shift while Cas had the cotton candy machine.

One by one the other cabins shuffled into the barn. It was more of a shack than a barn, really. There was no loft, only three walls, and it was only slightly bigger than the average cabin. 

Cabin 9 was last, every one of them dripping wet.  _ Apparently _ they’d all fallen into the creek on the way over. More likely than not, one boy fell in and all the rest followed suit, thinking it’d be fun. 

Sometimes Dean missed being young and stupid. Now he was just stupid.

The barn was separated by gender, the girls on one side and the boys clustered at the other. This always happened, and namy counselors were running around trying to convince everyone to mingle. As usual, their efforts were in vain. A mixed crowd was forming around the cotton candy machine while kids waited for their webby treats. Not too many of them wanted snow cones, though. It was getting a bit chilly for cold snacks. 

The staticky feedback of the megaphone gave Dean just enough time to cover his ears before the inevitable voice burst his eardrums. Why people couldn’t understand that they didn’t have to  _ yell _ into the microphone was beyond him. 

“Alright you guys it's time for the real party to start! Who's ready?” yelled a hyper blond counselor who stood on a wooden crate in the middle of the one wall. There was a cheer from all the assembled teens. “I can't hear you!” taunted the counselor. They screamed again, this time much louder. “Ok then, let's party!” the guy jumped off the crate and flipped one of the many switches on the wall behind him. Colorful strobe lights flashed.

Someone turned the music up even louder, and most everyone grabbed a partner and tried to dance.

“Tried” because they weren't very good. But, Dean sighed, they looked like they were having fun, and that's all that mattered.

It only took twenty minutes for the campers to run through all the cotton candy crystals and snow cone syrup they were allowed for the party. Twenty minutes of Dean accidentally making eye contact with Cas when he caught him staring. After that, Dean and Cas were free to enjoy the party however they pleased.

Before he could even decide what he wanted to do with his newfound freedom, a pretty counselor wrapped in a Camp Crossroads blanket grabbed Dean's hand and dragged him to the middle of the dance floor. They jumped around to a few songs together, then she found another guy to dance with, leaving Dean alone on the center of a ring of middle schoolers.

Dean saw movement from the corner of his eye, and, looking over, he saw a smiling Cas waving to him from the wall of the barn where he had been watching the crowd from. Castiel, always a wallflower.

He pushed past couples and groups of dancers and leaned up against the wall next to Cas.

“You looked a little lost.” Cas grinned stupidly at him.

“That was definitely one of the more traumatic experiences so far.”

Cas chuckled.

The two listened to several more songs from their spot on the wall, both perfectly content with being wallflowers. It was a nice change of pace after weeks of being so involved in everything going on.

“Oh my god, I hate this song,” Dean complained the second a Miley Cyrus song began thumping over the speakers.

Cas couldn't help but agree. “She was better off as Hannah Montana.”

Dean, a hardcore Cartoon Network kid, chose to overlook the fact that his bunkmate was a Disney kid.

He shuffled his weight around until he couldn't take it any longer.

“I gotta get out of here,” he told Cas. “You think they'll notice if I sneak away for a little while?”

“Probably not,” Castiel replied, scanning the barn to see if anyone was looking in their direction. He took a step away from the wall, towards the barn doors. “I know a place we can go hang out at for a while --if you want, that is.”

Honestly, Dean wouldn't care if Cas led him off a cliff. It had to be better than this.

“Lead the way.” Dean bounced off the wall and followed Cas out the door, glancing over his shoulder as he left. He was half expecting to see someone waving him back inside, but no one seemed to be looking.

Cas led Dean through a small field. Walking in the dark through grass that went up past his waist was not something Dean was eager to do, and he hoped he never had to do it again. The thin beam of light from Cas’ little pocket flashlight didn't help.

Reaching the border of the woods, they followed a thin trail that wound up a steep hill. Dean had to pull on trees growing along the path to heave himself up at particularly tricky spots. The dirt crumbled under his feet, sending him sprawling on several occasions. Cas helped him regain his footing every time, without even making fun of him. He apologized and told Dean that they were almost there. 

Eventually, when Dean's legs were burning and a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead, they reached a flat section. In the middle of the space was the biggest tree Dean had ever seen. It made all the rest of the trees around it look like dwarves.

Cas led him to the base of the giant tree, to the other side. Hanging from the lower branches was a frayed rope ladder that Dean immediately distrusted, but Cas motioned for Dean to go up in front of him.

Dean did so silently, in awe at the sheer size of the tree. After maybe twenty feet of climbing, Dean reached a platform built into the limbs of the tree. It was like an adult sized treehouse. There were railings and several more rope ladders that led to lookout spots higher up.

A large hammock tied between two boughs swung lightly in the breeze, and Dean had to resist the urge to lie down and sleep the rest of the night away.

Cas pushed Dean out of the way and stood next to him on the platform.

“Dude… This is awesome! How did you find this place?”

Cas shrugged, walking over to the railing to look through the trees at the barn far below. Dean followed close behind.

“We used to bring campers up here all the time until one little boy fell off of the ladder while going down. It was deemed unsafe by the camp, and  _ officially _ no one's allowed up here until they make it safer.”

Dean grunted. Leave it to kids to ruin something totally cool. He was mildly impressed at Cas’ ability to do something against the rules, though. 

“You think this is awesome, wait until you see this,” Castiel smiled and started climbing a rope ladder to their left. “Come on,” he called to Dean unnecessarily, as his co-counsellor was already right behind him.

This ladder led them up another fifteen feet onto a small lookout platform, maybe five feet square. Cas scooted to the farthest corner and sat cross legged. There was barely enough room for Dean to squeeze in next to him.

After settling in, Dean looked up at the sky. The clouds had since dissipated, and there weren't many branches blocking his view so high up. He could see the moon very clearly through the leaves. When Cas turned off his flashlight, he could see hundreds of twinkling stars.

They sat in silence for a few heartbeats, admiring nature (something Dean would  _ never _ admit to and would deny vehemently if he was ever accused of) before Dean exclaimed, “Look! A shooting star! Make a wish.”

Cas’ eyes fluttered closed, the moonlight leaving exaggerated shadows from his eyelashes on his cheeks. His lips moved wordlessly as he silently made a wish.

Dean smiled inwardly at the image, but it only lasted for a second.

“What did you wish for?” Dean asked when Cas opened his eyes and flashed a toothy grin up at the sky.

“I can't tell you, or it won't come true,” he deadpanned.

Dean snorted. “You really believe that?”

Cas was silent for a few seconds, staring into outer space. He shuffled, and pulled a bag out of his pocket. Ripping it open, he held it out to Dean.

“Trail mix?” he offered.

Dean gratefully grabbed a handful. He hadn't exactly filled up on s'mores and cotton candy at the parties. He ate the peanuts and the m&ms, but dropped the raisins onto the ground far below when Castiel wasn't looking.

Cas rested the hand holding the snack on Dean's thigh, where both of them could reach it easily. The skin under Cas’ hand burned hotly, and Dean wondered if Cas could feel it through the cloth of his shorts

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, and Dean still hoped for more time. The trail mix was long gone, and Cas had slid the bag back in his pocket, refusing to litter. 

Everything just seemed so peaceful up in the trees. They could barely hear the raging party still going full swing at the bottom of the hill. The flashing, colorful lights cast a weird, flickering glow across the treetops, making the whole thing seem more like a dream than reality.

The cicadas chirped rhythmically around them, and, not for the first time, here with Cas, Dean was glad he'd taken the job. He was glad he’d stayed the extra month. He had absolutely zero regrets concerning the summer. Everything seemed to finally be falling into place. Well, almost everything. The man whose hand was still on Dean’s knee, even though there was no more trail mix to be shared… well, he was still a great big question mark in Dean’s mind. 

Cas, already pressed up against Dean's side since that was the only comfortable position that the child-sized lookout allowed, slid down and rested his head against his co-counselor’s shoulder, humming contentedly under his breath. Dean stopped breathing, worried that any movement would make Cas withdraw. 

“We should be going back soon,” Cas said to the sky.

“Maybe in a few more minutes,” Dean replied, not at all in a hurry to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so fun fact i leave for school in like a week and when i get there ill probably never even think of this fic so im trYING to post it all before i go but :// i havent written chapter 10 yet. Just chapter 10. Everything else is finished.


	10. Week 8 (i would dye for you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, after moNTHS of yall being passive aggressive in the comments i finally finished writing this chapter :) enjoy and idk leave nice comments maybe? thx 
> 
> Also fun fact:: september was the two year anniversary of me starting this fic :) i originally had it in a wide ruled notebook that i hid under my nightstand. The notebook might actually still be down there.... yikes. Anyway, happy late anniversary! this should NOT have taken me so long to write im just...... very lazy

Dean’s hands looked like he personally strangled the life out of every Care Bear in Care-A-Lot. He was supposed to wear gloves, but the only size they had (a one-size-fits-all kind that did not, in fact, fit all) were way too big, and kept slipping over his wrists while he wrung out T-shirt after T-shirt and cut away the string keeping them in tight sections. So he forwent the gloves and rinsed out little kids’ shirts with the cheap plastic hose like a real man.

Dean was stationed in the aftermath section of the camp’s tie-dye shelter. Kids clustered around the covered picnic tables, waiting for their chance to squirt colorful dye out of reused ketchup bottles onto white shirts provided by the camp. The shirts had very small, impractical breast pockets, and each pocket boasted the Camp Crossroads logo, a red square with an X in the middle, with a C to the left and right of the X. Basically, it was a crossroads traffic sign tilted on its side with some letters tossed in there. Whoever came up with it had obviously waited until the last minute to design it.

Dean glanced over at Castiel, who was in the beginning phase of dyeing, where the most dye got splattered and tossed around. He had put on one of the white shirts at the start of the day, and throughout the course of the afternoon, it was hit with so much dye that you couldn’t tell it had ever been white. It looked like he was leaking purple breast milk from his left nipple, and blood from the other. Dean refrained from telling him this, though. His own white shirt probably didn’t look much better.  

“Is it done?” asked a little boy hopping around the table where Dean was supposed to be laying out the shirt in his hands.

“Yeah, buddy, it’s done. Let me grab it.” Dean had no trouble remembering which shirt went to which kid. Or, that’s what he said anyway. He usually just matched the stained hands with the shirts, and nine times out of ten, he was right on the money.

This kid’s hands were bright green, and Dean shifted through his small stack and found a mostly-green shirt. The kid grabbed it from his hand and scampered off to show his friends.

Dean sighed. Working with kids was a thankless job.

His attention shot back over towards Cas when he heard a shrill cry. A kid had squirted himself in the eye with the dye. Again. Third kid today. The on-call nurse was ready, though. She’d set up a table off to the side with washcloths and bottles of water, and she immediately swooped in and helped the kid flush his eye.

Cas was in the middle of tying a shirt into sections when he caught Dean staring. He waved a blotchy hand, and Dean showed his own in return. Cas had a blue stripe across his cheek. Probably from an overambitious kid. His neck was also heavily colored. The colors mixed together to make a greenish-brownish hue. It looked terrible, like he’d thrown up all over himself and just let it sit there until it dried. Definitely not attractive at all. And yet somehow...

Over time the sun changed positions in the sky and Dean’s left side was exposed to the scorching rays of pre-sunburn. Already four hours in, and roughly a quarter of the kids were still waiting to dye shirts, as well as the entire older campers crew and some counselors who weren't working the tables.

Dean heard someone calling “hey” over the general hubbub of children screaming, but he didn't look up. Nor did he look the second time. It wasn’t until the third, more insistent “hey,” when everyone in a thirty foot radius turned, that Dean forced his attention away from the task at hand. Cas was motioning Dean over urgently. Dean looked at the shirt in his hands and the three hung over his arm that made him look like a waiter, and dripping rainbow shirts were his fancy napkins. He held them up to Cas in an “I’m busy I can’t go over there” motion. Cas just waved more urgently.

Dean quickly laid out the shirts he’d been holding and slid over beside his friend.

“What, Cas? I have things to do.”

“Hey, do you remember when you were sick?” Cas asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Yes?” Dean was thrown completely off guard. He was also a little skeptical.

“Do you remember when I brought you food and put a washcloth on your forehead?”

“........ yes.” Dean was now very skeptical.

“Remember when you said you’d die for me?”

Dean started spluttering and whatnot, remembering the time his mouth wouldn’t _shut up_ and he’d blurted out things he shouldn’t have, but before he could say anything, Cas continued.

“Well it’s time. I’m sick of this. Dye for me.” Cas held out a bottle of green dye.

Dean’s brain short circuited a little bit.

“I... You... The --what?”

Cas started laughing and the dye in the bottle he still held out sloshed around.

“You said you’d dye for me. Prove it.”

“Castiel, you’d better be spelling it D-Y-E and not D-I-E.”

“Of c--”

“Well I guess I’d be fine with either, really.”

Cas laughed, but didn’t lower the bottle.

“Seriously, though. Want to trade positions?”

“Role reversal,” Dean’s brain replied automatically, and for some reason Dean verbalized the thought.

“What?”

“Uh, I said ‘sure.’ I’ll switch with you,” Dean said quickly. Cas raised his eyebrows.

Dean ignored it and took the dye and shuffled around Cas to stand where the other counselor had been. There was dye all over the outside of the bottle, and now Dean’s hand had a gross green overtone on top of the rainbow of other colors. Cas waved and went over to Dean’s spot, scurrying quickly to pick up the slack.

Dean would be lying if he said he didn't sneak glances at the dude while he was tossing shirts in little kids’ faces.

~

“Aaaaaaalright you guys get in line for paint. Remember, even number cabins are red, odd are blue. And no mixing paint! That’s cheating.” The counselor dressed like a stereotypical American tourist lowered his megaphone and turned back to his group of friends.

“Dude, at least give me a warning when you’re about to yell in my ear.” Dean smacked his arm.

Gabe smiled. “Sorry.”

Dean looked over from his blue tent to the forming line in front of the red tent. Cas has been pulled from the blue side last minute to even out the number. He was busy dripping paint into little paper cups and handing them out to kids to smear on their faces. Dean guessed he should do the same, and turned to his task.

It took twenty minutes for all the kids to get their faces colored, and another five to get them in line on their sides of the huge field ringed with trees and cut in half by a gravel path that served today as the capture the flag site.

After the rules were explained, the kids were set loose to hide their flag.

Dean served as an overseer. He had blue paint on his face (and all over his arms, shirt, and shoes, thanks to a kid with an attitude problem) to signify his side, and his job was to walk around and make sure kids weren’t fist fighting or whatever. Kids got pretty competitive during these things. Dean had learned the hard way.

Dean hoped that Cas was an overseer too, but they were on opposite sides so it wasn't like they could talk anyway. They had to keep up appearances, even if they weren’t really playing.

Dean sneaked a little ways out from base and set up camp on the gravel drive. He wasn't supposed to sit --really he was supposed to be pretending to play the game so the kids had a good role model or whatever, but after months of playing and getting tackled, kicked, tripped, and grass stained, he'd had enough to last he rest of the summer, even if it was only a couple more weeks. He'd sit for half an hour or so until someone won and then he'd be able to curl up in his sleeping bag for an hour while Cas led the group to lunch.

Dean had only been sitting for a few minutes but already he'd dug a circle out of the rocks out of boredom. He began stacking rocks until he got frustrated that he couldn't get more than three to stay up at a time. In his defense, though, little rocks are a lot harder to stack than pretty much anything else. Once Dean stacked nine peas on his plate at lunch before some loser kid bumped into his side and they all fell over. It was his proudest moment.

“Hey. You're supposed to be watching the kids,” a voice that matched the path in its gravelly-ness said directly into Dean's ear. Dean didn't hear anything past the “hey” though, because he was too busy jumping _out of his skin_ , Jesus Christ.

Cas just laughed and stepped back a little so Dean couldn't hit him.

The red paint on his face was vertical striped down his nose and cheeks. The paint all over his chest was in a very unique splatter pattern that just _screamed_ modern art. Jackson Pollock who?

“Jesus fuck, Cas. Don't do that.”

Cas sat next to Dean, still laughing deep in his throat.

“So,” Cas broke the awkward silence that had settled along with him on the path. “Do you know what you’re gonna do when you get out of here?”

“I mean… a nap sounds nice.”

Cas laughed. “No, you dweeb. I mean after camp is over. Only two more weeks, y’know.”

“Oh.” Dean actually hadn’t thought about it. Not to sound like some weird country poet, but he couldn’t picture himself outside of the ring of trees that had been his home for the last few months. What would he do every day when Cas wasn’t there to help him wake up in time to take a shower before the kids crowded the stalls. School seemed like such a far out notion when you’ve been living like the Amish with barely any contact with the outside world.

“I dunno,” he continued, “guess I'll go back to school. The fall term will just be starting”

“What’re you studying?”

“Mechanics. Duh.”

“Of course, I almost forgot about your whole scene on the first day. You can go far in life telling people to fill up their gas tanks.” Cas’ voice was dripping with sarcasm. Dean was rubbing off on him. It was kinda hot.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh huh. And what’re you gonna be? A starving artist? Professional summer camp counselor?”

Cas shrugged. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot out there for me to just pick one thing. I’m gonna try out a few things before I decide. My mom wants me to be a chef, for some reason. Imagine me, in a kitchen.”

Dean did imagine him in a kitchen. With a chef’s apron on… and nothing else. There was flour everywhere, in Dean’s fantasy. Cas smiled and lifted a spoonful of batter to his lips. Meeting his approval, he offered it to Dean.

Dean had to think about hairless cats to get himself to calm down. There’s no bigger turnoff than a wrinkly pile of flesh and evil.

He cleared his throat and said something along the lines of “that's ridiculous.”

Cas nodded and picked at his shoes.

The conversation was getting into territory that Dean really didn’t want to discuss, so he changed the subject.

“This game is gonna take forever.” Dean sprawled his legs out in front of him. Rocks, as it turns out, were not the best cushions. “My kids threw their flag up in a tree. You'd have to climb it to get it, unless you're taller than the average eight-year-old.”

“Oh, really? I think I know someone on the red team who could pull it off”

Dean let out a bark sound that was probably supposed to be a scoff. Or maybe a laugh.

“Who? They're all gremlins.”

“Dean, for the last time they're not gremlins.” Cas stood and put on a dramatic show of stretching like the athletes do before a race. “And it's ME.”

Without any further warning, Cas bolted towards the blue team sidelines and the trees within it.

Dean's stupid monkey brain took a second to realize what happened and what Cas was trying to do, but when it did finally click he scrambled up to chase after him, yelling, “cheater!” as he went.

Cas didn't have long legs, per se, but he ran like a stallion and Dean _really_ wanted to ride him like one and literally what the fUCK did he think that for, he almost tripped trying to make his mind take it back.

Cas kept running, but Dean, trying his hardest to forget about horses of every kind, ran faster and literally tacked Cas to the ground. They ended up in a heap about 50 feet from the tree that housed the blue flag. Some kids who were guarding the flag cheered at Dean's victory, seeing it only as a Blue-Counselor-Takes-Down-Red-Trespasser kind of deal and not a This-Man-Could-Have-Made-Us-Lose-The-Whole-Game-And-He-Barely-Fixed-It situation.

Cas tried to roll out from the other’s grasp, but Dean was having none of it. He positioned himself until he was pretty much just lying on his stomach on top of him. Cas probably got a mouthful of grass, but that's what horses were supposed to eat anyway.  

“I tagged you, you're in jail,” Dean said into Cas’ ear.

“Well I can't go until you get off.”

“Well as, uh, _convincing_ as that sounds, I don't want to. You're my prisoner now and you have to be my personal bed from now on.” Dean made a show of sprawling across Cas’ back as if he were about to go to sleep.

The blue team guards giggled at Dean's display of power, and were so distracted that they almost missed the red team kid sneaking up behind them. Almost. The kid got smacked in the stomach so hard Dean cringed.

Dean heard footsteps jogging up behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see an exasperated Charlie.

“Dean! Castiel! You're supposed to be watching for fights, not starting them.”

Dean rolled off Cas’ back, landed on his knees, and stood in one fluid movement.

“I was just escorting this prisoner to the jail,” Dean lied.

Charlie didn’t look like she believed him. She just shrugged and moved on.

Dean pretended to handcuff Cas’ hands behind his back and paraded him up the hill to the water jugs (the “jail”) as one would lead a prisoner. He may or may not have highkey been holding Cas’ hands the whole time, but if he was it was absolutely just because he was keeping up the cop persona.

Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well?? how wild was that? worth the wait? nah i dont think so either. The next two chapters are tho. i like em. :) theyre also the last chapters. Stay tuned!! coming soon... Theyre already mostly done i just need to make a few changes. The next one will probably be out around thanksgiving unless i get a lot of requests for it to be posted earlier ;)
> 
> expect the Final Chapter around Christmas.


	11. Week 9 (birthiversary)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be busy tomorrow so here's the next chapter..... a whole day early! Last chapter coming out sometime around Christmas

It happened on a Thursday. 

On the fourth week of August, Dean woke up to a barrage of counselors trying to sneak into his cabin at 4:48am. He would remember the exact time forever. His clock seared it into his blurry retinas. 

“Shhhhhhh,” one of them whispered. 

Dean rolled over just in time to see all five of them --he couldn’t tell who they were-- drag a mumbling Cas out of bed. Two of them carried him to the door. Dean was now fully awake,

“Hey,” he whispered hoarsely, sitting up and leaning over his bunk’s low guardrail. Kidnapping a counselor (and Dean’s favorite one at that) might be cause for concern, but there was nothing on this Earth that would make Dean Winchester wake up the hoard of bloodthirsty urchins sleeping less than three feet away from him. 

“Shhhhh, Dean-o. It’s Cassie’s b-day today. He’s just gonna go for a little morning swim. He’ll be right back in bed in no time, I’m sure.” Gabriel stood at the foot of Dean’s bed, talking louder than Dean thought necessary. “He’s in good hands. Go back to sleep.” 

“But-”

“It’s fine, we do this every year. There’s nothing you can do,” Gabriel interrupted smoothly. 

A kid in the bunk right across from the door began to stir. Gabriel whispered a “sweet dreams” to Dean and disappeared with the rest of the kidnappers, who had gone ahead without him. 

What kind of tradition was throwing the birthday boy into the lake at 5am? Dean thanked every god he could name that his birthday was in January, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

It took him all of thirty seconds for his stupid, sleeping brain to inform him of what was going on. He sat upright (much like Frankenstein’s monster), narrowly missing the ceiling beam. One of these days he was gonna brain himself on it, he just knew it. 

Jumping rather noisily to the floor, he fumbled with a pair of sandals and tripped out the door. It took him a minute to catch up with the group of kidnappers and the weakly struggling Castiel. 

Dean jogged up beside Gabriel and slowed to match his sauntering pace. 

“Tagging along? I told you we’d take good care of him.”

“Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t drown him,” Dean quipped.

“Dean?” Cas who stopped floundering for a second.

“Yeah buddy, I’m here.”

Cas scoffed. “Well, are you going to help me?” he demanded.

Dean shrugged. After realizing his friend couldn’t see him he added, “Nah. You could use a bath.”

Several of the other kids laughed, and Cas started flailing his arms again. 

They reached the lake, and Gabriel made them stand in a semicircle at the end of the dock. 

“Dearly beloved,” he began in a very somber voice. “We are gathered here today for the fourth annual Throw Castiel Into the Lake Day, more commonly known as his birthday.” The gathered counselors cheered, and Dean vaguely wondered if this was what happened at a satanic ritual when they sacrificed a virgin. 

“Is there anything you’d like to say, birthday boy?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes.” Cas glared calmly at everyone present, his gaze lingering on Dean. Dean could see a twinkle in the blue eyes, and didn’t feel _ as _ bad. “I hate you all.”

The two holding Cas’ arms, Dean could tell that they were Balthazar and Charlie in the moonlight, brought him forward into the circle. Everyone helped hoist him onto their shoulders (Dean front and center, laughing the whole way), and, counting to three, they catapulted him into the lake. His arms flailed in the seconds before impact, giving it all a comical mood. Definitely not anything like a virgin sacrifice.

They all cheered, “happy birthday!” when he came back up, spitting a stream of water into the air. He treaded water, laughing a little. 

He let them laugh at his expense for a bit longer before getting out of the water. Swimming up to the dock, he held an arm out to Dean to pull him up. The warnings from the other counselors came too late. 

Dean grabbed his wrist with one hand and his elbow with the other, and Castiel pushed against the post holding up the dock with his legs, pulling himself away, back into the lake, and dragging Dean along with him.    


Dean landed on Cas’ chest with an  _ oof! _ and the water circled over top of them, pulling them under. 

Dean knew he wasn’t supposed to open his eyes underwater, especially not in a gross pond with mud and fish and probably pee--definitely fish pee--in it, but he really couldn’t help it. The water was relatively clear. Dean guessed the mud had had time to settle back down to the bottom after the day of kids swimming. The moonlight left little sparkles in Cas’ open eyes, and his hair fanned out around his head mermaid-style. It was almost surreal. 

Seeing Dean’s eyes also open, Cas smiled. With teeth. Underwater. Dean tried not to gag at the thought of pond water filling his mouth. Moment gone.

Their momentum slowed, and eventually they floated back to the surface. 

Gabriel was on the ground, laughing so hard he looked like he was about to wet himself, and the rest were holding each other up. 

Dean and Cas were still for a moment before they realized that their arms were still wrapped around each other. They quickly separated and swam a safe, hetero distance apart. 

When they made no effort to drag themselves from the water, someone on the dock shrugged and dove in with them. One by one, the rest followed, leaving a pile of shirts, shoes, and watches in their wake. 

Dean wished he’d had the chance to take off his sandals  _ before _ he was forcibly pulled into the lukewarm water, but he wasn’t really too concerned about it. They were Castiel’s anyway. Like Dean would ever own a pair of  _ sandals _ ever in his life. He took them off underwater and threw them onto the dock. 

They swam for a good while, played a few rounds of chicken fight (Charlie was the undisputed champion). Dean carried Cas in his shoulders in the more shallow side of the pond. The muddy water squelched between his toes, but if anyone had asked him, he’d have told them he hadn’t noticed. While Dean’s hands were busy steadying Cas, someone snuck up behind him and pantsed him. Naturally, Dean ducked underwater to pull his boxers back up, fully expecting Cas to release him and swim away, but Cas held onto his neck with his thighs in a vice-like grip, which was only a little weird. 

No one thought about thighs crushing watermelons. Nope, nuh-uh. 

After they were bored of chicken fighting, Gabriel started a game of stealing other people’s pants, which everyone else quickly joined in on. Dean was especially targeted because he hadn’t put on shorts before rushing after Cas, and his boxers switched hands so many times he debated just letting them keep ‘em. 

When the sun began to peek over the hill behind the camp, they remembered that they were counselors who had left their kids unattended for hours, and there was a general panic as they rushed to put their clothes back on. They raced each other back to their cabins, and called their goodbyes to each other as they branched off in different directions. 

Dean shed his shirt and sandals at the door, throwing the former over the railing and leaving the latter stewn somewhere to the side. Once inside, he grabbed his towel to dry his hair. Cas had jogged straight to the showers to rinse the mud and moss out of his hair, put there by Anna, who had been attempting to start a mud fight. 

Dean changed his clothes in the relative darkness of the early morning, and hopped into bed for a quick thirty-minute rest before he’d have to get up for the day. 

His eyes were only closed for a few minutes when Cas came sneaking in. Dean could have heard his bare feet squeaking on the worn boards of the deck from a mile away. He threw himself down onto his bed, and, getting settled in, he quit shuffling around. 

Dean stuck his head over the railing. 

“Hey,” he stage whisered.

Cas replied, “what?” immediately. 

“Happy birthday.”

Cas laughed quietly. “Thank you.”

Dean rolled to his side, closer to the railing, and hung his head down to see Cas. 

Cas was sitting criss-cross against the wall, using a little flashlight to read a book. Seeing Dean’s head and shoulders hanging upside-down, he set his book aside. 

“That was really fun. We should do it again sometime,” Dean said after almost accidentally drooling everywhere. Swallowing your spit was harder to do upside down. Who knew.

“That was actually not allowed, you know.”

Shrugging while hanging by your arms isn’t an easy task, but Dean managed. “It’s allowed if no one finds out.”

“Ok…” Cas picked his book back up. Dean’s face disappeared just long enough for him to turn around and jump down to the other bunk.

“What’re you reading?” Dean sat beside him, mimicking his posture against the wall. 

Cas showed him the cover. It said something about bikes, but Dean couldn’t read it in the dark. 

“What’s it about?”

Cas dog-eared the page he was on, set it aside, and began telling Dean the entire plot line with hand-motions and weird voices for each character. They had to sit closely, shoulders pressing together and knees overlapping, so they could hear each other’s whispers. 

Before they knew it, the sounds of people waking up floated through the camp, and Cas’ alarm, stuffed under his pillow, went off. The pair of them reluctantly separated to get ready for the day. Dean’s side felt cold without Cas pressed into it. 

Dean slipped on a shirt from his pile of mostly clean clothes and said the general, “Ok guys, time to wake up,” thing to wake the kids up. When none of them made a move to actually get out of bed, Dean began talking slightly louder. He walked around the room and poked the lumps huddled under blankets and in sleeping bags as he went. “It’s a beautiful day again, today. Sunny with a chance of meatballs, high of infinity degrees, low of negative infinity degrees. Today’s schedule involves breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with a few activities in between.” 

Cas usually left Dean in charge of waking the kids because, Dean had learned, he liked the absolutely ridiculous things Dean said in the morning. Dean didn’t think it mattered anyway; the kids were never awake enough to understand what he was saying. They just needed the noise to bring them back to consciousness.

Eventually all the boys were out of bed and gathering their clothes and toothbrushes for their morning rituals. 

“Breakfast is in 10 minutes, hurry up,” Dean called as the last group stomped down the three wooden steps and onto the dirt path leading to the bathrooms.  

It only took a few minutes for the cabin to empty, and the counselors were left alone once again. 

Dean shuffled his feet awkwardly. He decided it’d be in his best interest to put on some pants. 

Cas was already dressed. 

“Why do you always steal my clothes,” Cas asked suddenly.

“I don’t,” Dean said, almost tripping while trying to jump into a pair of Cas’ shorts with both legs at the same time. 

Cas snorted. “Didn’t you bring shorts?” 

“Of course I did,” Dean huffed. “Just, yours look so much better than mine. Mine are all baggy and stuff. Yours are tight and they probably make my butt look nice, like they do to y-” Dean stopped himself and wondered how long it would take to tie a noose out of a few of the many towels hanging from the rafters. 

“Like they do to…” Cas repeated, trailing off in a question. 

“Nothing. Look, the kids are back.”

Cas looked. The kids were not back. 

“Um, I meant to say that... I should... go see why they’re not back. They’re taking a really long time. I’ll go check on ‘em.” Dean babbled all the way out the door and slipped on the still soaking pair of Cas’ sandals he’d left on the deck.

~

If no one had known about it, then no one would’ve had to sing. Dean sat smoldering beside Cas at the dinner table as the whole dining hall erupted in off-key, offbeat, and off-putting song. He could feel the walls shaking with the vibrations. 

Dean looked around to find who was yelling “cha cha cha” at the top of their lungs between the verses of the happy birthday song. He made a mental note to fight the kid later.

When the echo from the last “cha cha cha” faded away, one of the kitchen staff girls came out with a small cake. Dean’s anger fizzled out instantly. It wasn’t as good as pie, sure, but this godforsaken camp didn’t believe in desserts, and the only sugary things they ever had was chocolate milk and some little something during dinner. 

“Make a wish!” The girl said as she set the cake down on the table in front of Cas. The one candle danced and whatever. Cas looked at dean and then quickly shifted his gaze to his lap. His lips moved silently to form  as he pretended to make a wish to humor the girl, who and blew out the candle. 

Everyone cheered, then pretty much went back to their food. Cas cut his cake and Dean helped him spread the slices around the table to their kids. With such a small cake being split between so many people, the slices were tiny. Cas must’ve seen the look on Dean's face because he gave Dean his piece too. 


	12. Week 10 (slow burns can choke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was gonna wait to publish this on Christmas Day.....but I just wanted to get it out there as soon as possible. Merry (early) Christmas!!!

 For the first time in almost two months, Dean couldn't sleep. It was Saturday night. His last night at Camp Crossroads before he had to go back home and listen to his dad make up for all the lost time, and frankly Dean was pissed that he couldn't catch some Z's.

He heard Castiel’s deep breathing on the bunk below him. Cas never had trouble sleeping. Dean listened to him sleep, hoping the gentle sounds would ease him into sleep of his own.

He tossed and turned for hours before finally giving up.

“Fuck it,” he whispered to himself, and sat up, shimmying out of his sleeping bag and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. As quietly as he could manage, he tiptoed down the ladder. Once both feet were firmly planted on the floor, he paused to see if he had woken Cas.

A soft snore told him he had not.

Dean slid on a pair of Cas’ sandals that were pretty much Dean’s now and slipped out the door into the humid night air.

Dressed only in a pair of sweatpants, Dean grabbed his swim trunks from their place on the deck railing and headed down to the pond.

He took the back way to the pond, avoiding the path to the front where banana boats, water slides, and the like were stationed. He went to the side near the border if the woods where he could hide more easily if he got caught out after curfew.

He dropped his clothes at the foot of a tree and slipped on his trunks in the dark.

He didn't want to dive into the pond -- he didn't know how deep it was. But he couldn't jump in either, because the splash would make too much noise. The pond was far enough away from the cabins that no one would hear him anyway, but he preferred to play it safe.

He waded carefully into the water. He was already halfway in when he slipped on the muddy bottom of the pond and fell completely underwater. Resurfacing, he spat out a mouthful of disgusting pond water and swam further out until he couldn't feel the squishy mud at the bottom seeping between his toes.

Lying on his back, he floated silently, listening to the cicadas chirping.

His thoughts somehow wandered to home. He wondered how Sam was doing. Dean had never gotten around to mailing that letter he wrote for him during the second week of camp. It was under his pillow. He hoped dad was being a respectable human being to Sammy for once in his life. Give the kid a break, maybe.

Loud rustling from the tree line made Dean start, losing his focus and he flailed as he almost submerged again.

Up by the trees he could see the outline of someone watching him.

“Shhhhhit,” he mumbled.

Dean knew when he'd been caught, and he'd definitely been caught this time.

He swam the twenty feet back to shore slowly, as if prolonging the confrontation would make it more favorable. I mean, they couldn’t fire him, not on the last day of camp. Actually, he had no idea what they could do, aside sent him back to his cabin. It’s not like there were kids left by themselves or anything. Just Cas, and Dean wasn’t worried about him.

“Dean?” A low voice whispered as he was walking out of the pond, shaking the water out of his hair while he went.

He stopped. He knew that voice. Relief washed over him, and his shoulders loosened as he realized he hadn't been caught after all.

“Cas. What're you doing up?” he said as soon as he was standing next to him.

Dean heard an exasperated huff, and Cas took a step back, trying to keep Dean from dripping brown water all over his clean pajamas.

“I could ask you the same thing. It's 3am, Dean. You should be asleep.”

“Couldn't sleep,” Dean shrugged. Both boys were whispering, standing in the shelter of the trees as if they were fugitives and they could be caught any moment --which wasn't entirely untrue. Camp Crossroads didn't tolerate unsupervised midnight swims of any kind. Though it’s not like there would be any real punishment. They couldn’t send him home if he was going to leave anyway.

Dean shivered. The air was warm, but it felt cool compared to the lake water.

“I'm getting back in. Wanna join me?”

Castiel shook his head vehemently.

“Dean, you are not getting back in. You're going to come back to the cabin and go to sleep. What if you get caught?”

“Don't be a spoilsport. I won't get caught.” Dean stage whispered over his shoulder, already on his way back in. “C’mon, the water's great.”

He swam back out to where he had been before he'd been interrupted.

After shucking off his pajamas, Cas joined him, running and diving in. He resurfaced close to where Dean was waiting.

Cas couldn't float on his back, so Dean treaded water by his side.

Dean couldn’t help that his swaying legs kept brushing against Cas’. Why were they so close anyway? There was plenty of room in the pond.

When Dean noticed Cas staring intently at his face, Dean purposefully dragged his entire leg against his bunkmate’s. Dean thought it was weird that Cas shivered. The water was a comfortable temperature.

Their legs somehow ended up intertwined as Dean was pondering this, and when he looked up he saw Cas’ face mere inches from his own.

“Cas?” Dean breathed, afraid that talking too loudly would scare the other man away. He didn’t want that.

He had no idea how badly he _didn’t_ want that.

Dean used his legs to bring Cas closer to him. Cas didn’t stop him. Dean took this as a good sign.

Only when Cas was wrapped in his arms, eyes almost closed, head tilted slightly did Dean realize. _This is happening. Oh my god, this is really happening._

His stomach did little flips as the butterflies flying inside it tickled him.

Cas sighed something along the lines of, “-how long I’ve waited,” before pressing his lips to Dean’s.   

They had to untangle their legs to stay afloat, eventually breaking apart when they needed their arms as well.

“Cas, I…I-”

Cas smiled softly, and Dean could physically feel himself turning fully gay.

“Me too.”

“You have no idea what I was going to say,” Dean scoffed, effectively (if accidentally) shattering the moment.

“It was probably something like ‘Cas I’m so gay for you.’ What? Am I wrong?” he asked when Dean laughed aloud. Way louder than someone doing illegal things in the middle of the night should laugh. Cas splashed him quietly.

“Nah, you’re probably right,” Dean confessed when he’d calmed down enough to form coherent sentences. “I’m kinda surprised, though. That wasn’t what I thought would happen.”

What he thought would happen included something dramatic, usually a dying campfire or maybe that super cool treehouse that they went to once. His fantasies were generally more…romantic, for lack of a better word. Maybe a confession like “I’ve loved you since we first met in that super dirty, very gross cabin.” Y’know, nothing too mushy.

“Oh, so you imagined this, huh?”

Dean felt his face flush. “Uh, no. pfft. Of course not.”

It was Cas’ turn to laugh.

“It’s getting kinda late. I could probably sleep now. You wanna head back to the cabin?” Dean tried not to make it sound like he was suggesting anything more than actually sleeping.

Because he wasn’t.

Cas agreed, and the two swam to the shore and walked back to their cabin together.

Dean wasn’t usually one to overthink things, but he debated whether or not it would be acceptable for him to hold Cas’ hand. Cas solved the problem for him by entwining their fingers and swinging their conjoined arms as he walked. Dean didn’t swing his arm. Instead, he let Cas’ momentum carry all the weight.

They threw their wet clothes over the deck railing as they breezed past.

Once inside, the two dried off, changed into fresh pajamas, and climbed into Cas’ bunk. Camp bunks were not made for two almost fully-grown men, but Dean didn’t mind the cramped space. It just meant they’d have to lie closer together. Cas ended up using Dean’s chest as a pillow.

“What did you wish for? That night there was a shooting star?” Dean spoke softly into Cas’ hair.

The memory of the treehouse and the stars was the best memory Dean had. Well maybe not the best, but it was definitely in the top ten. The breeze rustling the leaves, drowning out the Katy Perry songs, the closeness, the fucking raisins that Dean threw out when he thought Cas wasn’t looking. It was such a perfect night. It would’ve been a perfect night to make a move. Why hadn’t he? It didn’t matter now. It all worked out in the end.

Cas took a deep breath before answering, probably remembering that night too. “I wished for this.”

Dean let out the most contented sigh which stretched out into a yawn. A glint of metal caught his eye, reflecting the light from a sliver of moon that peeked out from behind the clouds.

Dean picked up Cas’ pocket knife from its perch on the window sill. He held it in his hand for a moment, feeling the coldness of it melt away from the warmth of his hand. In a flash of inspiration, he opened it and pressed the tip of the blade against the bottom of the bed above him --his bed. Cas mumbled incoherently next to him, already drifting off. Dean shushed him and dragged the blade along the wood. Particles of wood floated down onto his arm, but he ignored it, dragging and carving.

When he was finished he tossed the knife aside and settled back down with Cas. He looked up, smiling in his giddy haze at his handiwork.

C.N. + D.W.

Gouged deeply into the wood, for anyone to see.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cant believe it's finally finished!! It's hard to believe that i stated this fic over two years ago in a wide-ruled notebook.

**Author's Note:**

> in case you cant tell im using the chapter titles i originally wrote for this because sOMEONE told me i can't :) well surprise!! yes i can. theyre golden.


End file.
